Girl, Eleven, Demanding a ReSort (discontinued)
by boys and girls look to the sky
Summary: Everyone in my family has been in Slytherin. My parents, my perfect sister Liana. It's the best house once you get past the whole pureblood mania and Dark Wizard bit. It isn't really that bad. At least, I don't think it is. Anyway, it's going to be my house. It's going to be perfect. Even if I'm a bit of a screwup. "Gryffindor!" ...Hi, I'm Kate Progers, and I am one dead witch.
1. Slytherin, Slytherin, Slytherin

**Hello! This is my second fanfic (ever) so please be nice! This is actually a revision of the first chapter that I originally posted. Please read and review! **

**I do not own Harry Potter. JKR does. I only own Kate.**

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><p>When I was a kid, my mum always told me that being a pureblood was close to godliness. Whatever that meant. To tell the truth, my family isn't even entirely pureblood. We've got a few uncles who are half-bloods, and I think my cousin on my dad's side married a Mudblood (I'm not sure, we don't talk to her anymore), but true pureblood families are seriously rare these days. But I guess everyone likes to pretend.<p>

Anyway, my mother would always drill me as a child, making me memorize phrases such as, "Muggles are a lower race," or "Mudbloods are scum," and whatnot. I had never actually met a Muggle, but mum always made them sound like the devil come to the Earth. She used to read me stories about the Salem Witch Trials in America for bedtime stories, and described in detail of witch hunts, complete with bloodhounds and villagers with pitchforks and helpless witches and wizards struggling within the flames, screaming for the mercy that never came.

She has quite an imagination.

My older sister, Liana, of course, drank up this knowledge and put it into use her first year at Hogwarts. Obviously, she was put into Slytherin, being my family's 'pride and joy'. Liana is talented, has real knack for spells, especially curses. I don't really believe it was a coincidence that in her third year a kid had to be sent to the infirmary with his eyebrows cursed off and his tongue glued to the roof of his mouth (but of course, being a 'cunning' Slytherin, she managed to weasel her way out of punishment). Liana is also a teacher's pet, despite her habitual hexes. The other day, when I received my Hogwarts acceptant letter to study at the school of witchcraft and wizardry, it was quickly overshadowed by the shiny prefect's badge Liana received.

Of course, Liana is a kind sister when she isn't cursing people's buttocks off.

Since this is my first year going to Hogwarts, she's decided to take me to Diagon Alley, despite having gone to the Alley several times before on errands with my mum. But of course, she has to here on this 'monumental occasion.' I'm grateful for the company, but at the same time…

"I have to watch you get your wand, it'll be magnificent Katey-Kat, I swear."

"Hush up! It's no big deal, really, and please stop calling me Katey-Kat. It's _embarrassing_!"

Liana just smiles and tugs on a strand of my stick-brown hair. I have a theory that when she was a baby, she sucked up all of the good-looking genes from our parents (my mum's green eyes and my father's blond hair) while I was stuck with what was left (my mum's brown hair and dad's brown eyes). My attempts at improving my average looks always end in disaster.

"What, you don't like the nickname Katey-Kat? I think it's cute!" She drawls, navigating through the hordes of people that occupy Diagon Alley, crowding around shops and peering into brightly colored windows.

She pulls me by the hand towards Madam Malkin's Robes for all Occasions to buy my school uniform. "Come on slow-poke, let's get you some dress robes! I think green will be a rather smart color on you, won't it? Being Slytherin and all."

I shift uncomfortably, looking into the window of the shop, before tugging my arm away from Liana's grasp and pushing on the door to go inside. "C'mon, let's not stand outside here all day," I say, and Liana follows, a pleasant smile on her face.

Madam Malkin is a short, cheerful woman who fitted my sister for her uniform five years ago. She wears these really pretty mauve robes, which is why I'm disappointed when I hear the Hogwarts uniform is simply black work robes, but also rather relieved. This means Liana can't pressure me into buying green ones for Slytherin.

Of all of the four houses of Hogwarts (Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin), my family and other 'pureblood' families hold Slytherin in the highest regard, considering it for the best and the brightest. And of course, full of the most 'noble and ancient' wizard families.

Er…yeah. Sure.

See, the thing is, the whole, "Wizards good, Muggles bad!" spiel gets a little tedious after a while. I mean, my parents have been practically forcing it down my throat ever since I was child, and as lessons go, it's one that just seemed to repeat itself over and over, short on facts and long on gory details. I mean, I want to be someone my parents can be proud of, like Liana, but still, sometimes I wonder.

So while Madam Malkin bustles around me, pinning and hemming with muttering to herself, I try to remind myself of who I am. Kate Progers, eleven years old, 'pureblood' about to attend her first year at Hogwarts…

Of course. _That's_ why I'm nervous, not because of the stupid houses.

Even since I watched from Platform Nine and Three Quarters as Liana boarded the Hogwarts Express towards the rest of her life (to be utterly dramatic) I was spellbound by her tales of the gigantic castle, moving staircases, sprawling grounds and magical classes. It was there she learned how to make my teddy bear float up towards the ceiling and then back up and down for me to catch. It was there she learned how to change her bed into a frog and back again. And soon, in less than a month, I'm going to be following in her footsteps.

I'm so busy trying to imagine myself exploring the humongous castle of Hogwarts that I barely notice when Madam Malkin smiles at me and says, "Alright dear, you're done for now."

Liana helps me off the stool I was standing on just as the door to the shop opens and in enters a boy about my age with blond hair and a pale, narrow face. Madam Malkin pauses in straightening her pins and fabric to smile at him and say, "One minute dearie, let me just finish up here."

Liana approaches the boy and smiles. "Hello Draco, how are you?"

Draco Malfoy, the son of friends of my parents', just replies cooly, "Fine," and looks at me. "Well, I suppose I'll be seeing you at school as well, Kate?"

I don't answer, just clutch my robes closer to my chest, returning the gaze. I have known Draco since we were little, and my mum is always constantly hinting how beneficial it would be to match up with a Malfoy, since their blood is about as 'pure' as ours is. Personally, Draco makes me a little sick. His obnoxious nature just rubs me the wrong way, to be blunt. I'm pretty sure the feeling is mutual.

"What are you doing here alone?" Liana asks pleasantly. Draco turns to her to answer.

"Father is getting my books and my mother is looking at wands. We thought we would be able to get more work done if we split up."

"Ah. I see. That's rather smart, then."

Draco continues to smirk at me. "And what about you? You still need your big sister to babysit you?"

"Shut your mouth, Draco," I hiss just as Madam Malkin walks over to us, gesturing Draco to step onto the stool that I had vacated just moments before. Liana has conveniently turned a deaf ear to examine a pretty silk cloak, and I use this to my advantage. "I swear, once I'm at Hogwarts, I am going to hex it shut."

He just sneers and begins ordering Madam Malkin around as we leave, complaining about the hem, the length of the arms, color of the robes, pretty much everything.

"Such a nice boy," Liana murmurs as we exit. I scoff, looking up just in time to avoid crashing into a rather large man with a tangled beard, looking rather green in the face.

"Sorry 'bout that," He mutters, carefully maneuvering around my sister and I, a boy about my age with black hair in tow. "Wasn' lookin' where I was goin'."

"It's alright," I begin to say, just as Liana hurriedly grabs my hand and pulls me away before I can properly introduce myself. The man and the boy soon disappear within the crowds of people, but it isn't until we have reached the towering white building that is Gringotts that Liana lets go of me.

I shoot my sister a puzzled look. "That was rather rude, what was that for?"

"We don't associate with people like that," Liana's eyes are narrowing at me, and I can feel a lecture coming on, directed at me. "We're better than that."

The crowds of people talking and laughing are making it very hard to hear. As Liana turns on her heels and strides through the mass of people, her shoes making a soft tapping sound against the cobblestone street that I can barely hear, and I use that to follow her, struggling against the tides of people.

"But, wait, Lia!"

Liana turns back at the sound of her nickname, the one I used back when I was two and couldn't pronounce the whole word. I walk as fast as possible in order to catch up. "What do you mean by 'people like that'? They didn't look that bad."

Liana sighs and runs her fingers through her long blonde hair. I wish mine was that long. I've been trying to grow it out since I was seven, but it has never reached the length of my sister's.

"That's Hagrid, the groundskeeper at Hogwarts," She spits out the words like they are something dirty, unclean and unfit to be spoken by her pureblood mouth. "He's a savage that lives in a hut near the Forbidden Forest, and proper people stay as far away from there as possible."

I bite my lip nervously, and peer back the way we came, a million thoughts rushing through my mind at once. The first one to reach my lips is, "He didn't look that dangerous. Maybe a little wild, but isn't 'savage' a strong wor-"

"That's enough, Katelyn," Liana snaps, and I instinctively back off. Liana only snaps at me when she's stressed or when I push a matter too far. The use of my real name, the one I hate, is apparent, and I lower my eyes to the ground.

Her voice softens as she touches my arm and gently pulls me down the street. "Come on, let's just forget about the whole thing. Why don't we go get your wand?"

* * *

><p>"Oak and phoenix feather, eight inches. Rather bendy."<p>

I flick the thin piece of wood at a box near Mr. Ollivander's desk, but nothing happens for the tenth time. Liana's look of hope fades, and Mr. Ollivander snatches the wand out of my hand.

"No, not the right one."

"Sorry," I apologize, rather embarrassed. But Mr. Ollivander, an old man with eyes the color of pearls, shakes his head.

"No, it's quite alright. It was only your eighth – excuse me, tenth – try, and in order for you to measure up to your potential, we must find the right wand." He scans the boxes of thousands of wands left lying around the small shop and quickly grabs one, handing it to me. "The wand chooses the wizard or witch, Miss Progers."

In the ten minutes we have been in the store, I have heard that line three times. I wonder if all wandmakers agree with that philosophy, when I suddenly feel a warmth flowing, from my hand up my arm to the rest of my body. Looking down at the wand, I flick it in a direction, and the box moves.

Liana lets out a cry, and Mr. Ollivander smiles, which makes his pale eyes stand out even more, and yet makes them more tolerable.

"Well done, Miss Progers. Cherry wood and dragon heartstring, nine and a half inches, unyielding, very good," He chortles to himself, and proceeds to wrapping my wand in brown paper. Liana grins at me, and I flush with pride as I walk over to Mr. Ollivander to pay for my wand.

"The wand chooses the wizard, Miss Progers, never the other way around," He murmurs as he hands the package to me. I ignore the urge to roll my eyes; it's just the ravings of an old man, but as he turns away chuckling, I can't help but hear his next words.

"And the wands choose very oddly indeed."

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><p>After buying the wand, Liana and I visit the Apothecary, Flourish and Botts, and finally we go home using the Floo Powder at the Leaky Cauldron (Mum would never allow her daughters to use the Muggle transportation, no matter how curious I may be).<p>

When the flames of green part, I step out of the fireplace, back home, finding my mum waiting for me with a 'pleasant' smile on her face; or at least, that's how Liana describes it. I would call it more 'forced'.

"How was your excursion, Katelyn?" Mum asks, and I try not to wince at the use of my name. My sister calls me Katey-Kat, my friends Kate. My mother is the only one who uses the name 'Katelyn', insisting that it is fitting to a pureblood witch to use her proper name. Rather hypocritical, really, because _her_ name is Lucinda, but father calls her Lucy.

"It was fine, Mum," I say just as Liana appears in the fireplace behind me, and I use this as a chance to peel off my cloak and hang it over a chair. This doesn't go unnoticed by Mum, however, and she frowns pointedly at me.

"You know where that goes."

I sigh, and grab my cloak again, shuffling off towards the stairs and chucking it into a basket for our house-elf, an old piece of leather named Wanda. She's useful, I guess. I mean, I never have to clean my room. But she's dead faithful to my Mum, and always seems to watch me out of the corner of her eye whenever she's cleaning, doing laundry, or cooking. I suppose she'll expect to actually have something to report to Mum once I go to Hogwarts, like I've been making friends out of Mudbloods or hanging around 'half-breeds'.

Tempting, but unlikely.

I throw my purchases from Diagon Alley onto my bed once I reach my room and sit down. I've been counting the days till September first, and it's barely a month away. The first time I'll be really, truly free without my mum or dad following me around. Sure, there's Liana, but I'm sure I can easily avoid her in such a big castle, even if we're in the same house.

_I'd better be in Slytherin, _I think nervously for the first time. I suppose Ravenclaw wouldn't be so bad, but I mean, my mum's been egging me onto Slytherin since I was a little kid reading about Salem Witch Trials. I think the world might end if I'm not in Slytherin.

Okay, maybe that's being a little overdramatic.

…Nah, the world's definitely gonna end.

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><p><strong>Alright, please tell me what you think! Reviews and constructive critisicm would be much appreciated!<strong>

**Mischief Managed!**


	2. Frogs

September first comes with the usually frenzy. Frantic packing, writing letters, running up and down the stairs, trying not to step on the house-elf, screams and cries of "WHERE'S MY WAND?" or "KATE, WHERE THE BLOODY HELL IS MY PREFECT'S BADGE?" ("I don't have it." "Well, then where is it?" "I. Don't. Know. Ask Wanda, she's probably polishing it or using some other method to kiss-up to you.") The only difference is this year, I am actually in the middle of it instead of stalking around the house in my pajamas before begging them to wait so I can change and see Liana to King's Cross Station.

Finally, everything is ready, the trunks packed, Wanda bowing as we exit the house. Liana's already wearing her robes underneath a Muggle trench coat that I found in the attic, her prefect badge gleaming, and she ties my hair in a tight ponytail so I can look 'presentable' when I'm Sorted. Personally, I think I look ridiculous.

Mum 'tsks' impatiently as she offers Liana and I her arm. We travel by Side-Along Apparition – Liana doesn't learn how to do that until next year, and I am far too young to do it alone. Mum always tells us what a pain it is to have to escort us to King's Cross, but she would rather do that than (insert shudder here) _Muggle transportation._

I tried hiding her wand one year just to see what she would do without being able to Apparate. She threw an absolute fit and refused to leave, so Wanda quickly found it before Liana could be too late. I never tried that again.

Apparition (disappearing in one place and then reappearing in another) is like falling off of a fifty-story building – or at least, Side-Along Apparition is. You feel like you're falling, falling faster than normal gravity would allow, and the air is compressing around you, pressing and squeezing and it feels like you can't breathe. That, or it really tickles.

We have to Apparate into a small women's bathroom that is always 'closed for maintenance'. It's not the best place to end up, but it was the best the Ministry of Magic could get us. Most wizards just ride the bus, but _no,_ we purebloods are 'magic or die'.

Mum says sarcasm is unattractive – it's how I survive, thank you very much.

The door is locked, but Mum just taps it with her wand. Liana quickly drags her trunk out of the room and into the station, and I follow, Mum quickly shutting the door behind us and locking it with a click so no curious Muggle will walk in on a group of unsuspecting wizards.

After helping us dump our luggage and whatnot into a cart, Mum kisses Liana on the cheek, pats me on the head. "Well, I suppose I'll be going now. Have a good term."

Liana nods and starts wheeling her cart in the direction of platforms nine and ten. I stare back at my mother confusedly. "Wait, you mean you're not coming to see us off?"

"I see no reason to." The words are not supposed to cut. But they do anyway. "After all, I know what Platform Nine and Three Quarters looks like."

I swallow and nod, turning around to follow my sister, trying not to show my disappointment in my face. I can't help, though, but watch as my mother walks back in the way we came, head up, back straight. Not even looking back. I don't think she even said the words 'good-bye', or at least if she did, it wasn't to me.

Being a pureblood obviously doesn't make you any nicer than the average person, I guess.

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><p>By the time I catch up with Liana, she's already made it to Platform Nine and Ten, about to run straight into the barrier separating the two platforms (that's the only way to get into it, you know). But before she can start running, a tall boy with flaming red hair cuts her off, running straight through the barrier and onto the platform. It's nothing, really, just that the boy started first, but Liana doesn't like being stopped once she has put her mind to it, even if it's something as trivial as getting onto Platform Nine and Three Quarters first.<p>

She abruptly turns the cart towards the rest of the boy's family, all with the same red hair. The plump woman, obviously their mother, is turning to the rest of the children, gesturing to a pair of what looks like twins. "Fred, you next."

"I'm not Fred, I'm George," One of the twins say, obviously surprised. "Honestly, woman, you call yourself our mother? Can't you tell I'm George?"

"Sorry George, dear."

"Only joking, I am Fred-"

"_Excuse me_."

Liana is using that voice. The poisonously syrupy one, the one that you would expect to hear on a model, well-behaved child throwing you lots of compliments with insults laced in between. Her eyes scan over the small (well, not really small. Five in all, and that's not counting that skinny boy with the dark hair and green eyes watching this little spectacle) family, taking in everything from the color of their hair to the shabbiness of the youngest boy's robes, obviously secondhand. The profile fits a family that I have often heard my father talk about at dinner, how poor they are and what a bunch of Muggle-loving blood-traitors. The Whizzbees? No, that's not it. The Weasels? No, that'd be a rather awkward surname.

The woman replies nonchalantly, "Yes? What is it?"

"I do believe that my sister and I would like to get on the platform, and if you could kindly move out the way so that we don't draw any attention from the Muggles –" Liana starts, but never finishes, as one of the twins from before interrupts her.

"Why? We were here first."

"Hush, George," The woman whispers, and the twin falls silent, although he smirks at the look of fury on my sister's face. She is used to getting her way, as am I.

"I would have thought it was obvious." There is no fake honey in Liana's voice now, only a frosty tone that could cut steel. I shift my weight from one foot to the other, wanting to help and yet not wanting to intervene. "We are purebloods. You are obviously of a lower class, so it only makes sense for us to go first."

The amused expression on their faces gives way to fury. A name pops into my head – The Weasleys. Their father works in Misuse of Magical Artifacts or something. The little girl by Mrs. Weasley's side looks a little confused at this strange turn of events, but the youngest boy's face turns about as red as his hair.

"Who're you calling a lower class, you-" The youngest boy, about my age starts, his face very pink around the ears, but his mother stops him.

"Stop it now, you're going to attract attention…" Mrs. Weasley mutters, and indeed, this little showdown is gaining us all some funny looks, including that boy with the owl, who is still staring like this is an entertaining Quidditch game he can't tear away from.

Mrs. Weasley looks at Liana, and in a tone that's just as cool as hers, says, "Fine, then, go on." She obviously thinks this isn't a battle worth fighting for, and I privately agree. It's just a platform, for Merlin's sake.

Liana nods instead of a thank-you, and pushes her cart through the barrier with a triumphant smirk. In a second, she has disappeared. I follow as quickly as I can, not looking behind me so as to avoid looking back at the Weasley family.

This doesn't stop me from hearing one of the twins tell their mother in a very loud voice, "I'll bet you five galleons that she'll be in Slytherin."

"Shh, Fred, you shouldn't judge," Their mother hisses, but I can still hear contempt behind cleverly chosen words.

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><p>Platform Nine and Three Quarters is just as I remember it last year, crowded with people. The sign above the platform reads Hogwarts Express, eleven o'clock. Just in time, actually, we would have been earlier if Liana had chosen her battles a little more wisely.<p>

Oh jeez, that sounds like something a Ravenclaw would say.

The crimson steam engine sends plumes of smoke directly over our heads, over the chattering of people laughing and talking and getting ready for a new year. Really, one of my earliest memories ever is of me tripping over someone's cat on the platform and splitting my chin open when I was six. I waved good-bye to Liana for the first time with tears in my eyes and a tooth knocked out.

Ah, memories.

The Weasley twins appear right behind us, but push past us without a word. As I watch them both disappear within the crowd of people, I imagine myself pulling out my wand and sending a well-aimed hex at the pair. The 'Slytherin' comment had rather stung, not because of the words, but the derision beneath it.

"Ignore them, Kate," Liana tells me. Honestly, sometimes she can be a bloody mind-reader. But it's a nice gesture, and I turn to smile gratefully at her when we are both knocked to the ground by a cart going way to fast. When we stand up, I can see the one pushing the cart is the same one that was staring at the showdown between Liana and the Weasleys, out of breath like he had taken the barrier at a run.

"S-Sorry," He stutters and holds out a hand to my sister and I. Liana shoots him a glare and gets up on her own, before looking at me. "I'll be up front with the prefects if you need me,"

She brushes past the boy and pushes her cart towards the front of the train, where a small knot of smug looking fifth years wait, all wearing the prefect badges over their robes, which they have already changed into.

I stand up on my own too, but look at the boy. "It's alright," I say, before noticing something for the first time. On the boy's forehead, nearly hidden by dark bangs, is a thin, jagged scar, looking suspiciously like a lightning bolt. "No way…"

The boy turns a little red and nervously flattens his bangs over his forehead, but I've already recognized him.

"O-oh, wow, you're Harry Potter!" I say in a fierce whisper, half stunned, half ecstatic at meeting a celebrity.

"Er…yeah." He says, backing up a little bit. I mentally bang my head against a wall. Of course he wouldn't want to talk to me after seeing that episode outside. Honestly, how much ruder could I have been?

Well, um, thanks Harry," I manage to say, and start to awkwardly push my cart away before realizing that I had thanked him for no reason at all.

_Stupid stupid stupid stupid stupid…_

Well, unless you could thank him for the defeat of You-Know-Who. That would make sense, right?

Enter dramatic story time.

Of course, I'm sure everyone knows who You-Know-Who is, because that's why he's called You-Know-Who because you know about him. The darkest wizard of our time, whose name starts with a V and ends with a T, but we call him You-Know-Who because we don't like saying his name because you never know who might hear you and we already know his name and you never know if he might be back to do You-Know-What. You know?

Anyway, ten years ago You-Know-Who walked into a house that happened to be occupied by the Potters and their only son, Harry Potter. You-Know-Who killed Harry's parents and then tried to kill him. But something happened, and the curse rebounded on You-Know-Who, leaving Harry with only a scar shaped like a lightning bolt on his forehead, and You-Know-Who just…disappeared. If I didn't know better, I'd say he died, but I mean, this is You-Know-Who we're talking about. I don't think a guy who, still to this day, the general population is afraid of saying his name, would just die like that.

Dramatic story time over.

I push my cart through the crowd, trying to find a compartment until I reach one with only a girl with bushy brown hair reading a book in it, and she's too preoccupied to notice when I push my trunk into the compartment and sit down, looking out the window where numerous students are still trying to get on. Harry Potter is being helped by those two Weasley twins, and Liana is at the front of the train, conversing excitedly with the other Slytherin prefect.

Finally, when everyone is aboard and the train begins to move, the platform slowly moving farther away until we are speeding out of sight, my stomach doing flip flops, the girl in the compartment marks her place in the book and looks at me. "Oh, hello."

I swallow and wave. So far, I've managed to piss off everyone I've met today, and I don't want that record to continue, so I decide probably keeping my mouth shut would be the best possible strategy.

"I'm Hermione Granger." The girl introduces herself, and I notice she has rather large front teeth, kind of like a beaver. I keep that to myself too.

"I'm Kate Progers. I'm a pureblood." The words spill out before I can stop them and I feel like banging my head against the window again. Stupid Mum, she always told me I ought to introduce myself like that.

However, the girl doesn't seem to mind, and she replies happily, "Oh, really? My parents are Muggles, but it must be fascinating to be raised by wizards!"

Actually, I think being raised by Muggles would be much more exciting, but I'm not allowed to say that. So, to carry on the conversation, I say the next thing that comes into my head. "Oh, so you're a Mudblood?"

Hermione's smile disappears. My face goes red, buts it's too late to take back what I've already said. "I beg your pardon?" She demands, a look of anger in her eyes.

"I-I'm sorry, I meant Muggle born," I say, quickly thinking of the politically correct term. But it's too late, and she buries herself back into her book, ignoring any more attempts at conversation.

The train flies past fields, with animals like sheep and cows and little quaint country houses. Hermione devours the book with a kind of fierceness, and I amuse myself by counting houses as fast as we can fly past them. It's a quiet ride – neither of us speak, but not the kind of companionable silence that I had expected. More like both of us are afraid of speaking for fear of upsetting the other.

Finally, just when the silence is becoming almost unbearable, the door to our compartment opens, and a tearful boy with a round face asks timidly, "Have either of you seen a toad? I've lost mine…"

We both shake our heads, and Hermione sets her book down. "I'll help you look for it," She says quickly, and practically pushes the boy out of the compartment, slamming the door behind her. An excuse to get away. Now I'm alone.

I lean my head against the window. The countryside fades to wilderness, forests with towering trees as a witch pushing a cart opens the door and smiles into the compartment. "Anything off the cart, dear?" The cart is carrying a variety of sweets that any other time I would have leapt to my feet to buy the whole lot. But my appetite has slowly been diminishing, and I don't think I can swallow a single Every Flavor Bean. I'm about to shake my head when a sudden thought occurs to me.

"I'll have six Chocolate Frogs and a box of Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans, please."

* * *

><p>When Hermione gets back with the boy in tow (apparently the frog hunt had been unsuccessful) I toss them both a Chocolate Frog.<p>

Hermione frowns. "What's this?"

"It's a Chocolate Frog." I reply, biting the head off of one myself and gesturing for them to sit down, hoping they'll realize this is an attempt at an olive branch. The boy sits down, but Hermione looks at me curiously before following suit. "Any luck with the frog?"

"No." The boy's face crumples. "I'll never find Trevor. He was a present from my Gran."

"I'm sure it will turn up, Neville," Hermione says soothingly, before looking at the box of Every Flavor Beans. "Do those really have every flavor?"

I nod. "My sister once gave me a vomit tasting one as a joke." Neville and Hermione's faces scrunch up in disgust, and I try to hide my smile.

Cautiously, Hermione pours a few beans onto her hand and hands the box to Neville. Picking up a small, pink one that might have be strawberry shortcake, she pops it into her mouth and immediately grimaces. "Ugh. Salmon."

Neville pours a few into his hand as well, but is stopped by the door to our compartment opening and a voice saying, "You know, they taste better when you take them by handfuls."

We all look up. It's the twins from the platform, only now they're grinning at Neville's confused expression as he attempts to put the handful of beans in his mouth.

"Oh honestly," Hermione scoffs as she pulls Neville's hand away from potential disaster. "How thick do you think we are? They're Every Flavor Beans for goodness sakes!"

One of the twins sighs dramatically. "Too bad, Fred, looks like these first years aren't fooled that easily."

"Aw, that's no fun then."

I glare at the two of them as Neville coughs, having apparently tipped two beans into his mouth that produced a revolting flavor. "Don't you have something better to do?"

The other twin, presumably Fred, nudges his twins and smirks. "Say, George, isn't it that little Slytherin princess from the platform?"

"I do believe it is."

"Where's your big sister to babysit you?"

"Put that away!" Hermione hisses as I manage to pull my wand out of my pocket and point it at one of the twins, I'm not sure which. "We'll get in trouble if you start a duel here!"

The twin looks at the wand pointing directly at his face and laughs. "You do know that until you actually learn some spells, that piece of wood is useless?"

Good point, but I'm not about to admit it. It may be a useless piece of wood, but it is very pointy and would be useful for gorging someone's eyes out (violence – the only personality trait I ever inherited from my mum).

"What do you want?" Hermione snaps finally, and they turn their attention to her, ignoring me and my wand/eye-removing-utensil completely.

"Lee Jordan's tarantula escaped," One of them, presumably George, says in a perfectly calm voice. He might just be discussing the weather. "Have you seen it?"

Neville gulps, and tucks his legs onto the seat, off the floor and away from any tarantulas. I shudder as well, but don't lower my wand. Hermione is the only one who is unfazed, and asks drily, "Is that it?"

The twins just snicker again, and reply, "Yes, Professor." Hermione's eye twitches in annoyance, but she doesn't say anything, and the twins exit. One of them, presumably Fred, tugs on my ponytail as he exits, which annoys me to the point of murder, but Hermione slams the door before I can stab anyone with my wand.

"Well, that was a huge waste of time!" She exclaims, and sits back down with a sniff. "Almost as much as seeing that ridiculous spell in the other compartment!"

"What spell?" I ask, pulling my long brown hair out of the tie that Liana put it in. I hate it when people pull on my hair. "Who was casting it?"

"Ron Weasley, I suppose their brother," Hermione replies, pouring herself some more Every Flavor Beans. "He was trying to turn his rat yellow. It didn't work, obviously."

"Rats and tarantulas," Neville mutters. "I thought we were only allowed to bring cats, owls, or toads?"

"Well, there are always going to be some troublemakers," Hermione sniffs. "And honestly Neville, they're just trying to scare you with the tarantula. I saw it when I came back, it's still in its box."

"Oh." The color seems to return to Neville's face, but he doesn't place his feet back on the floor.

I scowl. "What a bunch of boggart-brains," I say, using a term my sister Liana is fond of using. "I really hope I'm not in a house with any of those Weasleys."

"Well, I hear most families are all in one house," Hermione says thoughtfully, nibbling on a Chocolate Frog. "I hear Gryffindor is very good, of course."

"My Gran was just happy I was accepted," Neville joins the conversation. "But I know she expects me to be in Gryffindor too. I'm probably going to end up in Hufflepuff, though." He adds as a sort of an afterthought. "But I guess it's better than Slytherin."

"Better than Slytherin?" I ask, shocked. I've never heard a conversation like this before. The month before Liana was went to Hogwarts, she mostly stalked around the house, going, 'I have to be in Slytherin, Slytherin, Slytherin, although Ravenclaw wouldn't be too bad, no, no, think Slytherin. Slytherin is the best.' And what do you know, she ended up in Slytherin, just like everyone else in my family.

"But isn't Slytherin the best?"

Hermione and Neville both look at me like I'm completely off my rocker.

"What are you talking about?" Hermione frowns, a line appearing between her eyebrows. "You do know that Slytherin has produced the most Dark Wizards than any other house, including Volde-" Neville and I wince, and Hermione quickly corrects herself. "Sorry, You-Know-Who?"

"Well, yeah, but I mean, you can't judge a barrel of eels by one eye," I shrug, using another one of my sister's quirky phrases. Neville nods in agreement, but Hermione looks confused. Typical Mudblood – I mean, Muggle Born response, so I quickly add, "And besides, my entire family is in it, and they're not bad or Dark Wizards."

Hermione still looks skeptical, but shrugs this off. "Anyway, I hear that Hogwarts is full of history. Like the headmaster, Albus Dumbledore, is a genius. He was in Gryffindor, of course, and defeated the dark wizard Grindelwald, as well as discovered the twelve uses for dragon's bloo-"

"My sister says Dumbledore is mad, raving fool," I interrupt this little lesson (no doubt impressive, considering Hermione has Muggles for parents) with the truth beyond the facts.

Hermione frowns again in apparent annoyance, but surprisingly, it's Neville who speaks instead.

"'Course he is, but that's why he's brilliant," He shrugs, reaching for another Chocolate Frog. "Doesn't your sister know that?"

My throat suddenly feels very dry, and I can't respond. Hermione peers curiously at me, before suddenly saying, "You know, Kate, it seems to me you've lived in the Wizarding World your entire life without really knowing what it's like."

I distractedly rip open a Chocolate Frog and stuff it into my mouth, looking out the window at the ever changing scenery. Neville and Hermione chat lightly (or rather, Hermione rattles off a list of trivia she learned from _Hogwarts, A History_, and Neville half-listens) but I am silent for the minute, and for a long time after as well.

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><p><strong>Please tell me what you think! Thanks to minerva.m1997 for reviewing! It made my day!<strong>

**Mischief Managed!**


	3. Sort, Sorting, Sorted

**Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. **

**Thank you to mermaidgirl45, Samalama, BookKailei, minerva.m1997, and Queer King stephen for reviewing last chapter! **

* * *

><p>The train continues onward, but darkness approaches quickly, draping the world in black until it becomes hard to tell exactly where we are. The Chocolate Frogs and Every Flavor Beans are quickly demolished and thrown away, and Neville begins to fret about his toad again.<p>

"He's probably really scared right now," He whimpers, and Hermione tries to comfort him as shadows outside our compartment run back and forth, giggling and laughing.

"We must be nearly there," Hermione says thoughtfully, and stands up. "I think I'll go ask the conductor if we're there yet. It's been quite a few hours."

"I'll go with you," I offer, and stand up as well. "Neville, could you watch our trunks? I'll look for Trevor on the way, if you want." Neville nods, and Hermione and I exit the compartment.

The train is shaking and hard to walk in, but we manage by leaning against the wall most of the time. Students of every age and size run every which way, opening and closing doors to compartments and slamming them, giggling and playing Exploding Snap. Hermione sniffs. "You'd think they'd know better than to run around on a _train_." Personally, I think they look like they're having fun, but I keep that myself. I'm learning.

"OI! MOVE!"

Three boys about my age push their way through Hermione and I. I scowl, looking back at them, recognizing one as Draco Malfoy. Slimy little dragon-dung-licking git that he is.

Hermione seems to think the same thing, only not exactly in the same words. She narrows her eyes at them, and abruptly turns on her heel to follow him and the pitiful crew he's collected (two boys who look like they could do with a Beautification Potion. I guess the angle they're going for is ugly wingmen).

"What are you doing?" I ask Hermione as we make our way to through the rush of students goofing off to follow Draco and his lackeys. "I thought we were going to talk to the conductor."

"Yes, but they look like they're going to start some trouble," Hermione says as they disappear into a compartment and close the door. "Honestly, why can't some people act their age!" She declares in that same reproachful voice as we get closer to the door.

Suddenly, there is a ear-splitting scream coming from the compartment, and the door flies open, one of Draco's 'wingmen' running out, holding his finger and howling, followed by Draco and the other lackey. My eyes widen, thinking about what unspeakable horrors could have happened in there, and I rush ahead of Hermione and peer into the compartment.

It's Harry Potter and one of the Weasleys, sitting surrounded by candy wrappers. Weasley's picking something up something from the floor that looks like the rat that Hermione said he was trying to turn yellow. I'm about to say something when Hermione catches up and frowns at the mess.

"What has been going on?" She demands. The Weasley (what was his name again? Ronald or something) doesn't pay her any attention, and instead looks curiously at the rat.

"I think he's been knocked out," He mutters to Harry, then takes a closer look. "No – I don't believe it – he's gone back to sleep."

"You've met Malfoy before?" Harry asks, still ignoring Hermione's and my presence. "I met him in Diagon Alley in Madam Malkins, where did you see him?" Suddenly the boy lingering behind Hagrid in Diagon Alley behind Hagrid gains a face and a name in my head.

"I've heard of his family," says Ron knowingly. "They were some of the first to come back to our side after You-Know-Who disappeared. Said they'd been bewitched. My dad doesn't believe it. He say's Malfoy's father didn't need an excuse to go over to the Dark Side."

"Well, You-Know-Who _could_ have."

Harry and Ron look at me, and I swallow nervously, wishing I could take back what I said. I've met Mr. Malfoy once, and he's as foul as his son, but he's my parents' friend, so I have to say something, right? "I-I mean, there were a lot of people being taken advantage of, a-and, um…"

"'Course you would say that," Ron says coldly, obviously still remembering the little show at King's Cross. "You 'purebloods' got to stay together, don't you?"

I can't respond, just bite my tongue and wish my feet weren't glued to the floor. Harry looks from me to Ron and then to Hermione. "Can we help you with something?"

"You'd better hurry and put your robes on, I've just been up to the front to ask the conductor, and he says we're nearly there." Hermione replies, despite the fact that we hadn't reached the front of the train when we (she) were distracted. She looks around the compartment and raises her eyebrows. "You haven't been fighting, have you? You'll be in trouble before we ever get there!"

"Scabbers has been fighting, not us," Says Ron, gesturing to the sleeping rat. "Would you two mind leaving while we change?"

"All right – I only came in here because people outside are behaving very childishly, racing up and down the corridors," Hermione starts to turn around and exit, before turning back. "And you've got dirt on your nose, by the way, did you know that?" Looking closer, the Weasley, in fact, does, and he scowls at Hermione's back.

I realize that I've finally regained the use of my feet and my voice, and I manage to stutter, "Well, um, nice meeting you." Not really. I quickly exit the compartment to catch up with Hermione.

Let's see how many more bridges I can burn before term starts, shall we?

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><p>A voice echoes through the train, over the din of the shaking train and the people outside. "We will be reaching Hogwarts in five minutes' time. Please leave your luggage on the train, it will be taken to the school separately."<p>

The train begins to slow down, and Hermione, Neville, and I, stand up, dressed in our black school robes. I can't see anything outside when I look out, save for a few lights as we reach a small platform and the train drifts to a stop.

Neville is still sniffling about his toad, and Hermione and I have long since stopped trying to console him, figuring it should turn up sooner or later, and if not, toads are replaceable. I know this for a fact, because my mum gets rid of owls if she thinks they haven't delivered her letters fast enough, so we go through about twenty-five a year. I have long since stopped naming them.

A rush of students head towards the door, and slowly the creeps towards the platform. It is dark, save for a few lights so no one falls off the platform.

"Firs' years! Firs' years over here!"

A huge man carrying a lantern maneuvers his way through the torrents of students, and in a moment I feel like all the Chocolate Frogs and Every Flavors Beans are making their way up back the way they came. Of all people to lead the first years to Hogwarts, why why WHY couldn't my sister have at least _warned_ me it was _Hagrid_?

Is it just me, or am I managing to cross paths with every possible person I have pissed off in the past today?

"C'mon, follow me – any more firs' years. Mind yer step, now! Firs' years, follow me!"

We separate from the rest of the students, following Hagrid down a narrow pathway that seems to lead down into the darkness. The only guide is the bobbing light that Hagrid carries and the occasional sniffle of Neville (honestly, it's only a toad!).

Finally, Hagrid looks over his shoulder, beaming through his thick beard. "Ye' all get yer firs' sight o' Hogwarts in a sec, jus' round this bend here."

The line slowly makes its way around the turn, and a gasp echoes from the entire group. I, too, can only stare at the magnificent, glowing castle perched upon a mountain on the other side of the vast black lake, its windows glittering like the stars above our heads.

"No more'n four to a boat!" And I am snapped back to reality.

"W-we're going across the lake?" I choke, trying not let the fear show in my voice. Hagrid turns his beetle-black eyes towards me.

"Er, yeah, only way ter get to the school, yeh know." He replies, shrugging, and points to a small cluster of boats just off the shore. "Everyone in, then."

The students around me head eagerly towards the boats, climbing in with apparent excitement. My feet seemed to be glued to the ground again, and that is where I'd like them to stay, thank-you-very-much.

"You getting in?"

I look the left. There's only one boat with three people still in it, and I'm the only one left on the shore, and everyone's waiting. I gulp, and slowly start towards that boat, which currently holds two giggling girls, whispering to each other, and a tall black boy.

"Right then – FORWARD!" Hagrid cries once I'm seated, clinging to the side of the boat with all my might, desperate not to fall in. The boats start to smoothly move through the water, with no one rowing. There is no sound, not even the gentle splash of water, and yet I am terrified.

My sister used to tell me stories about the giant squid living at the bottom of the lake, and tried to scare me by saying it'd reach up with its long tentacles and grab hold of an unsuspecting first-year, pulling it down deep beneath the chilly black waves, until the kid couldn't hold his or her breath any longer, only to be eaten by the Lake Monster. I had regarded this as a silly little tale meant to scare me, but now I scrunch my eyes tight and try not to scream.

"Hey, you're missing the view," Someone in my boat says, but I ignore them. Opening one eye, I realize we're dangerously close to the cliff. We're not going to crash into it, are we? Images fill my head – the wreckages of the boats drifting in the water, students being pulled one by one into the deep abyss, never to reappear –

"Heads down!" Yells Hagrid, and everyone ducks as the boats sail straight on through an ivory covering that cleverly hides an opening that our boats sail straight through, a tunnel of some sorts that leads deeper into the mountain.

I begin to relax, and open both of my eyes. The tunnel leads to a small dock-like area, and Hagrid stops the boats against the rocks of the cavern as we scramble out of the boats. I keep my eyes on the land, not letting myself look at the water.

A croaking sound makes me turn around. It's coming from the boat we recently vacated, and the tall black boy climbs back in, digging underneath one of the seats.

"Oi, you there, is this your toad?" Hagrid asks as the boy pulls out a dark-green toad with a sour expression – probably from being on his own all day. Neville darts forward, holding out his hands and grabbing the toad so hard its eyes might pop out.

The group trudges on, up tall marble steps leading to a thick wooden door. Hagrid makes his way to the front of the group and says something, but I can't hear it. I'm not concentrating on it, and it doesn't look like anyone else is either until Hagrid knocks three times on the door, a sound that echoes.

An old, stern looking witch wearing green robes opens it, her hair twisted tightly into a bun under a pointed hat and her mouth set in a firm line. A few students flinch under her gaze, including me.

Hagrid seems unconcerned, in fact, positively delighted to see her. "The firs' years, Professor McGonagall,"

"Thank you Hagrid, I will take them from here," She replies, and opens the door a little wider to let us in. We slowly clamber in, drinking in the scenery. The entrance hall is huge, with a staircase to the left and gigantic doors in front of us. A statue of a fierce looking wizard rests to the right, and one can barely see the ceiling in the dim light of torches hung on the stone walls.

"Come along," Professor McGonagall says, and we all snap our attention from the magnificent hall to her. She is leading us into a small room off the chamber, and we surge forward to meet her in one big pack. I find myself once again next to Hermione Granger, right behind Potter and Weasley.

Finally, when everyone has settled down, the Professor speaks again. "Welcome to Hogwarts," She says in a prim voice not to be argued with. "The start-of-term banquet will begin shortly, but before you take your seats in the Great Hall, you will be sorted into your houses." _Oh Merlin, haven't we stressed that enough already? Do we really need to be reminded? Oh, right, this is for the Mudbl – Muggle Born's information._ "The Sorting is a very important ceremony because, while you are here, your house will be something like your family within Hogwarts. You will have classes with the rest of your house, sleep in your house dormitory, and spend free time in your house common room.

"The four houses are called Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin." _Slytherin, Slytherin, Slytherin (although Ravenclaw wouldn't be too bad) – no, no, focus, Slytherin, Slytherin, Slytherin… _"Each house has its own noble history and each has produced outstanding witches and wizards." _Right. Slytherin has produced the greatest wizards of all time…like You-Know-Who – gah, what's wrong with me today? _"While you are at Hogwarts, your triumphs shall earn you house points, while any rule-breaking shall lose house points. At the end of the year, the house with the most points is awarded the house cup, a great honor. I hope each of you will be a credit to whichever house will become yours." _Of course, Slytherin has won the house cup for the last few years, and will win this year with me in it. Right?_

"The Sorting Ceremony will take place in a few minutes in front of the rest of the school." _WHAT?_ "I suggest you all smarten yourself up as much as you can while you are waiting. I shall return when we are ready for you. Please wait quietly."

And with these 'comforting' words of wisdom, she exits the hall, leaving us to deal with these increasing feelings of dread.

A period of silence follows, and then the whispering begins. How are we gonna be sorted, which house do you think you're gonna be sorted into? Which one do you want to be sorted into?

Hermione is whispering furiously the different spells she's learned over the summer to herself, sounding like a hive of angry, annoying bees. While I had been grateful for her companionship on the train, it occurs to me exactly how annoying she is right now, and how much I'd like to be left alone and maybe throw up.

A movement to my left catches my eye, and, quite against my will, I scream.

This draws the attention of several students, but not as much as the spectacle. Transparent, filmy white human-looking creatures are floating through the wall, chatting among themselves. I gulp, and try to breath. Everyone looks like they've seen a ghost – which, in fact, they all have.

"Forgive and forget, I say, we ought to give him a second chance-" A fat little monk starts to the rest of his fellows, only to be interrupted by another ghost in Renaissance-looking clothes and somewhat of a pompous air.

"My dear Friar, haven't we given Peeves all the chances he deserves? He gives us all a bad name, and you know, he's not really even a ghost – I say, what are you all doing here?"

Seemingly noticing us for the first time, the brigade of ghosts turn to us and examine us curiously, which causes quite a few students to flinch. I open my mouth to answer, but any words get stuck somewhere between my throat and my mouth, I choke.

The Friar (the Fat Friar, as I remember Liana telling me) ignores this, and smiles fondly at all of us, putting a few of us at ease. It's amazing how just a smile can make you feel better. "New students! About to be Sorted, I suppose."

Giving up on the use of human speech, I instead nod, and so do several others. Well, at least we haven't gone deaf.

"Hope to see you in Hufflepuff! My old house, you know."

"Move along now, the Sorting Ceremony is about to start." Comes the voice of Professor McGonagall, and the ghosts float through the crowd (causing some students to shiver violently) and through the opposite wall. McGonagall turns her attention back to us.

"Now, form a line, and follow me," She says, and we oblige, not daring even to whisper. I'm afraid if I open my mouth more than words would spill out, and we exit the room, through the entrance hall, and with a flourish, the doors to the Great Hall opens.

Four long tables sit inside an enormous room, golden plates and goblets at every place, hundreds of students turning from their seats to look at us. Thousands of candles are lighted, floating magically around the hall, below a ceiling that is enchanted to look like the night sky. Beautiful. At the front of the hall, another table sits, with the teachers also peering at us, as if sizing us up for slaughter.

Wow, I'm really depressing when I'm stressed.

There is a thud as McGonagall places a four-legged stool at the front of the hall, and on top of that a raggedy old hat, torn and patched in places with an open seam at the top. I used to have a hat like that, until Mum threw it away.

Is this a joke?

Suddenly, the seam opens, and the hat begins to (what the heck?) sing,

"_Oh, you may not think I'm pretty, _

_But don't judge on what you see,_

_I'll eat myself if you can find_

_A smarter hat than me._

_You can keep your bowlers black, _

_Your top hats sleek and tall, _

_For I'm the Hogwarts Sorting Hat _

_And I can cap them all…_"

Excuse me, but am I going crazy? The hat is singing. SINGING. I've seen a lot of crazy things in my life growing up with wizards, but a bloody hat singing at the top of its lungs (if it has any) about bravery and friends and Hufflepuff pansies has got to top the list.

"_You're in safe hands (thought I have none)_

_For I'm a Thinking Cap!"_

The hat finishes its song to a tumult of applause from all four tables, and it bows (bows?) graciously to each of the tables before going silent again, just like a hat should.

Well, Liana did say there was a Sorting Hat. She conveniently forget to mention that you can argue with it if you don't like your house.

"So we've just go to try on the hat!" Someone whispers behind me. "I'll kill Fred, he was going on about wrestling a troll!"

I guess trying on a hat would be easier than wrestling a troll, though I suppose if Gilderoy Lockhart could do it _(Travels with Trolls, _on the bestseller list for an entire month – Liana's a huge fan, but she'd kill me rather than admit it) I could do it. But definitely, having a hat order you around is much better. I think.

Professor McGonagall steps forward again, unrolling a long roll of parchment that falls just an inch above the ground. Merlin, I hope that isn't a speech, we'll be here all night if it is, and I'm starving.

"When I call your name, you will put on the hat and sit on the stool to be Sorted," She explains, and I'm relieved to know it isn't a speech, but also a bit queasy. Sit on a stool in front of the entire school wearing a raggedy old hat? I'll pass, thank you.

"Abbot, Hannah."

A girl with blonde pigtails and a blushing pink face rushes forward, obviously eager yet nervous. She's so small that her head doesn't even fit into the hat – instead, it falls over her eyes, and after a moment of silence, the hat screams, "HUFFLEPUFF!"

The table draped in yellow to the far right starts to cheer as Hannah races over there, eager to be out of the spotlight, and sits down as "Bones, Susan," takes the stand and is declared "HUFFLEPUFF!" almost as quickly.

"Boot, Terry," becomes a Ravenclaw, and the table to the right, decorated in blue, stands up and claps, twice because "Brocklehurst, Mandy," follows. I stop listening after that, because the noise is too loud, and I can't concentrate. If I can't concentrate, who knows what house I'll be in?

It's taking forever. Neville takes nearly five whole minutes before the hat declares "GRYFFINDOR!" while Draco is almost instantly "SLYTHERIN!" I wonder if the hat talks to you while you're wearing it. Does it ask you about the weather or who do you think is going to win the Quidditch game between the Arrows and the Canons (not a hard choice, the Chudley Canons are the worst team in the league)?

"Potter, Harry."

Silence falls over the Great Hall like a cloak, and then the whispers begin, people straining in their seats to get a good look at the Boy-Who-Lived (or as my sister likes to call him, the lucky kid who met The-Man-Who-Let-The-Boy-Live).

A minutes passes. Then two. Everyone is holding their breath, even me, wondering, wondering. Finally the hat opens its mouth (mouth?) and screams, "GRYFFINDOR!"

The table to far left explodes in screams, cheers, and applause. Harry takes off the hat, puts it on the stool, and walks calmly (how does he do that? I'd be shaking like a leaf) towards the gold decorated table. It takes an entire five minutes for the hall to calm down, and even then those idiot Weasley twins won't stop shouting, "We got Potter! We got Potter!"

When the Hall begins to quiet down a bit, Professor McGonagall calls the next name, which is (oh Merlin, I think I'm gonna hurl), "Progers, Katelyn."

My left foot moves, and then my right, slowly taking me steps closer to the hat. I pull it onto my head, thankful it covers my eyes so I don't have to look at the entire school and immediately think, _Slytherin, Slytherin, Slytherin…_

_**Slow down, will you? I can barely hear myself think!**_

My eyes snap open, but all I can see is the black fabric of the hat.

_**Oh, that's much better now. Hmm…A healthy mind, I suppose, and a great amount of spirit, I see. But not so confident yet, are you? **_

_Slytherin, Slytherin, Slytherin…_

_**Alright, alright, I hear you, you want to be in Slytherin, keep your hat on (if you don't mind my humor).**_

Wow. The hat is cracking jokes. Now I've seen it all. It feels like an eternity has passed already. Why wasn't I put into Slytherin immediately like Draco?

_**I see…you want to live up to other's expectations, do you? You want them to be proud of you. Then that means…wait…interesting. But…hmm…**_

_Are you always this maddeningly cryptic?_

_**Sheesh, no need to be rude! I suppose there's only one place for you, then.**_

Oh no, I'm probably going to be in Hufflepuff. That's what I sound like, I'm not smart, not courageous, not cunning, I'm going to be a Hufflepuff pansy for the rest of my life…

"GRYFFINDOR!"

…WHAT?

He did not just say Gryffindor. I am not in Gryffindor. I am in Hufflepuff. Even Hufflepuff is better than Gryffindor. Maybe I'm going deaf. Please say I'm going deaf.

But no, the students at the table to the left are raising their hands to clap politely, and the hat is taken off my head, and Professor McGonagall is pointing towards the Gryffindor table (but I don't belong there, I'm supposed to be at the Slytherin table with my sister)…

Merlin's beard, my sister. My eyes scan the hall for Liana, and her face is lit up in fury and she's standing up, oh no, she's standing up in front of everybody, this is a nightmare, and she's screaming something and pointing at me.

Don't you say it, don't you say it…

"I DEMAND A RE-SORT!"

Phoenix feathers. She said it.

Troll wrestling suddenly seems much more appealing.

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><p><strong>Please review and tell me what you think!<strong>

**Mischief Managed!**


	4. Starving is My Way of Protesting

**Alright, here it is! Sorry for the delay, school's starting up, and I had homework as well as a mild case of writer's block. **

**Thank you to minerva.m1997, Queer King stephen, pizzalover8007, KatQ66, BookKailei, and Samalama (hope it's okay I used your idea of McGonagall and Dumbledore's reaction!) for reviewing! I ran around my house cheering every time I read one. ^.^**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. **

* * *

><p>No. No way. She did not just say that. She did not.<p>

"I DEMAND A RE-SORT!"

…Yes. Yes she did.

Silence falls like a cloak over the Great Hall. Some of the students gape at Liana with their mouths hanging open. The teachers are sitting up in their seats and glancing at her sharply, but she just stands there, returning their gaze with a kind of fierceness I can never hope to match.

Professor McGonagall sends Liana a very severe glare in particular, lines appearing between her brows as she opens her mouth to reprimand my older sister in front of the entire school. I really don't think this could get any more embarrassing, and I feel like melting onto the floor, out of sight of everyone. This is a nightmare, maybe I'll just wake up and find tomorrow's September first…King's Cross Station seems so very far away now.

"Why would you want a re-sort, Miss Progers?"

Everyone looks up at the head of the High Table, where a very old man with silver hair and beard smiles amusedly down at my sister and I, a sort of twinkle behind his half-moon spectacles. I recognize that face immediately from the Chocolate Frog cards – Albus Dumbledore, the headmaster and probably one of the most powerful wizards of all time.

I'll bet he gives out even worse detentions than McGonagall.

Liana looks up at Professor Dumbledore and folds her arms rather defiantly. "With all due respect, _Professor_," She stretches the word like a rubber band, testing its limits, making it sound less like a term of respect and more like a mocking insult. "I believe the Sorting Hat may have made a grave mistake and put my sister in the wrong house. I believe she would grow to her full potential in a…" Her gaze wanders to the Gryffindor table, and her lip curls in apparent disgust. "…different house."

Some of the teachers at the front mutter among themselves, and whispers erupt among the students. But Dumbledore simply smiles again, and leans back in his chair, like this is a rather amusing play.

"Well, I'm certain we could ask the Hat to reconsider then, out of courtesy." He glances over at the hat, which nods, and turns to my sister.

"I assure you, it isn't a mistake, Miss Progers," The hat tells Liana in a voice often used by adults when talking to a very small child, obviously mocking her. "In all my years as a Sorting Hat, I have never made a mistake."

Liana's face turns the hue of a ripe tomato, and McGonagall takes over. "I believe that is enough interruptions. May we resume the Sorting?"

My sister sits down with a huff, and McGonagall points me towards the Gryffindor table, and I shakily assume the walk of shame, sitting down to whispers and snickers as "Thomas, Dean," becomes the next Gryffindor.

Well…that _could_ have gone better.

Finally, the last student (Zabini, Blaise) is Sorted, and the stupid Sorting Hat is whisked away to Merlin-knows-where. I never want to look at that ugly thing again. Professor Dumbledore stands up and beams around at all of us, as if this is the best moment of his life and he wants to remember it forever. It makes me feel a little more at ease, but not much. After all, Liana always said he was off his rocker.

"Welcome!" He says, and all the students look up at him with a sort of reverence – we are in the presence of a living legend, after all (well, two, actually, if you count Potter. Funny how he kind of pales in comparison to Dumbledore, though). "Welcome to new year at Hogwarts! Before we begin our banquet, I would like to say a few words. And here they are: Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak! Thank you!" And he sits back down to a tumult of applause.

…Yep, definitely mad.

The golden dishes in front of us begin to fill with food, and the other first years around me at the table grin and dig in. I'm not hungry though, despite only eating a few Chocolate Frogs and a handful of Every Flavor Beans on the way here.

I look over at the Slytherin table, where Liana isn't eating either. She is simply sitting and staring at her empty plate with a disgusted expression. She looks up and catches my gaze from across the hall, and then smiles, a smile I know well. It means, 'don't worry, everything will be alright.' She'll probably write to Mum and Dad and then…

Oh Merlin, Mum and Dad will be furious. Its bad enough I've never shown nearly as much magical talent as Liana, but to be Sorted into Gryffindor! They used to think I might be a Squib when I was younger, which would have been a huge embarrassment to the family name, but not as much as being the only one in my family after fifteen generations to be put in Gryffindor.

Maybe I'm adopted. I hope I'm adopted.

"Aren't you going to eat?"

The voice comes somewhere to my right, but when I look that way, I don't see anyone besides a fourth-year currently busying himself with pork chops. It isn't until I frown and look closer that I realize I'm looking straight through a ghost, one of the ones from earlier.

"AHHH!" I let out a tiny scream (very un-Gryffindor-like, indeed) and nearly fall off the bench, scowling. "You nearly scared me to death!"

Someone kicks me under the table, and I wince, half because it was a very _hard_ kick, and because I just said the worst possible thing you could say to a ghost – who is dead. The ghost, though, does not mind, and instead looks around, as this scene has gathered the attention of most of the first-years at this end of the table, and bows.

"Sir Nicholas de Mimsy-Porpington at your service. Resident ghost of Gryffindor Tower." He announces proudly, standing up straight with a self-satisfied smile. Apparently that is a great position when you're a ghost.

"I know who you are!" Ron Weasley says, looking up from the feast to look straight at the ghost. "My brothers told me about you – you're Nearly Headless Nick!"

Nearly Headless Nick seems taken aback by this little bit of trivia, and tries to bring the conversation back on track. "I would prefer you to call me Sir Nicholas de Mimsy-" But he is interrupted by another first year, a boy with sandy-colored hair.

"Nearly Headless? How can you be 'nearly headless'?"

The ghost sighs, though probably more for dramatic effect (ghosts don't need to breathe, do they?) than anything, and tugs on his left ear, saying, "Like this." Like a plastic egg, his whole head swings to the left, only to hang on by a tiny bit of flesh still connected. Several people's jaws drop, and Neville chokes on a piece of fish.

"What, did someone decide to hit you with an axe and never decided to finish the job?" I ask, horrified. Nearly Headless Nick shrugs, obviously not willing to divulge any more of the story, and puts his head back on again (what a weird sentence) and coughs.

"So…new Gryffindors!" _For now._ "I hope you're going to help us win the house championship this year." _Don't count on it._ "Gryffindors have never gone so long without winning. Slytherins have got the cup six years in a row!" _I wonder why._ "The Bloody Baron's becoming almost unbearable – he's the Slytherin ghost." _The what?_

We all turn to the Slytherin table, where a ghost with blood pouring from almost every part of his body sits next to Draco, who looks just as horrified. I swear, I'm going to have nightmares tonight, between the Sorting, the lake, and the ghosts.

"How did he get covered in blood?" The same sandy-haired boy asks, and Nearly Headless Nick shrugs again. "I've never asked."

A few minutes later, the food disappears to be replaced by desserts of all kind, anything you could possibly think of. Despite still being annoyed by my current situation, my stomach begins to protest, saying starving myself won't solve anything. I try my best to ignore it as my other 'classmates' begin to talk about their families.

"I'm half-and-half," The sandy-haired boy, whose name is Seamus, I think, says. "Me dad's a Muggle. Mom didn't tell him she was a witch 'til after they were married. Bit of a nasty shock for him."

The table laughs, and, despite knowing my parents would be shocked to see my listening to tales of cross-breeding between Muggles and magical folk, I smile as well.

"What about you, Neville?"

"Well, my gran brought me up and she's a witch, but my family thought I was all-Muggle for ages. My Great Uncle Algie…"

_The ice cream is starting to look good, _a nagging voice in the back of my mind tells me as the others laugh and talk. _And the treacle tart, and strawberries…_

"Ouch!"

I look over to my left. Harry Potter has a hand over his forehead, frowning slightly and looking up at the High Table. The older Weasley, the prefect one, also glances towards him concernedly.

"What is it?"

"N-Nothing," Harry replies, still looking at the High Table. I follow his gaze up to a man with greasy-looking long hair and a nose like a falcon's. "Who's that teacher talking to Professor Quirrel?"

"Oh, you know Quirrell already, do you?" The prefect replies nonchalantly. "No wonder he's looking so nervous, that's Professor Snape. He teaches Potions, but he doesn't want to – everyone knows he's after Quirrell's job. Knows an awful lot about the Dark Arts, Snape."

I frown as the prefect returns to his conversation with Hermione Granger about Transfiguration, and lean towards Harry. "Are you okay? You look like you have a headache."

He just nods in reply, still looking up at the table, but the teacher never looks towards the Gryffindor table again. The desserts soon disappear, and we all direct our attention back to the High Table as Professor Dumbledore stands to address the school.

"Ahem – just a few more words now that we are all fed and watered. I have a few start-of-term notices to give you. First years should note that the forest on the grounds is forbidden to all pupils. And a few of our older students would do well to remember that as well." At the farther end of the table, the Weasley twins smirk and exchange glances with Dumbledore, who just smiles and continues. I _really_ don't even want to know what that means.

"I have also been asked by Mr. Filch, the caretaker, to remind you that all that no magic should be used between classes in the corridors. Quidditch trials will be held in the second week of term." YES! QUIDDITCH! "Anyone interested in playing for their house teams should contact Madam Hooch."

Oh yes, I am so trying out. Even if it is for Gryffindor. Merlin knows they need good players, compared to Slytherin, or at least, that's what Liana told me. And I'm one of the best players out there. I learned to ride a broom when I was only six years old.

_Flashback_

_"Alright, hold on tight!" Liana shouted from behind me, holding the tail of her Cleansweep in one hand so I didn't take off too fast. I stomped my foot impatiently._

_"Lemme go, Lia, I wanna try!"_

_"Okay, okay. Now, just kind of lean – yes, that's it!"_

_I took off towards the sky, up, up, up towards the cloud-speckled sky. It was the most wonderful feeling in the world, like I was completely invincible and nothing could touch me, the wind whistling in my ears, watching as the world became smaller and smaller…_

_"WATCH OUT!" _

…_and a good view of the apple tree in our backyard when I crashed right into the bark. _

_End of Flashback_

…Okay, so maybe I'm not the best player in the world. Maybe I'm not able to stay on a broomstick for more than two seconds, but I've wanted to be a Chaser ever since I was a little kid, so that's got to count for something, right?

On second thought, maybe I'll scratch Quidditch trials off my list of things to do.

I break out of my reverie just in time to hear the rest of Dumbeldore's speech, which is a good thing, considering what comes next.

"And finally, I must tell you that this year, the third-floor corridor on the right-hand side is out of bounds to everyone who does not wish to die a very painful death."

Yes, it's very good I didn't miss that. Some people laugh, but not many. Most just look around the room with a look of utter bewilderment on their face. Either way, Dumbledore is not fazed by the look of confusion he receives, neither the fact that he just dropped a figurative bomb on us with that news.

"And now, before we go to bed, let us sing the school song! Everyone pick their favorite tune and off we go!"

The WHAT?

* * *

><p>Five potential mind-scarring minutes later (five minutes of my life I will never get back), Dumbledore finishes conducting a few straggling students with his wand to another tumult of applause. He then sighs and addresses the school once more.<p>

"Ah, music. A magic beyond all we do here! And now, bedtime. Off you trot!"

Despite the words sounding like they would have been spoken to a five year old, there is something oddly comforting about them, and we follow the prefects out of the Great Hall and up the staircase, most of us too full and tired to talk. I, on the other hand, am starving, so I'm rather awake, and manage to look up to see that the staircases much go up to at least a hundred stories. And they're moving.

Moving.

I frown, wondering if I'm hallucinating, before a snicker from behind me makes me turn around in terror.

"First year, then?"

All there is behind me is a painting of an old wizard holding up some kind of golden instrument, and my heart rate quickly returns to normal. Just another moving painting, I have a few like those at home. I suppose if paintings can move, so can staircases.

"Peeves – show yourself!"

I realize I've been lagging behind the group, and quickly catch up to see Percy the prefect being clobbered with a number of walking sticks – an amusing spectacle, if it weren't for the obnoxious raspberry that follows.

"Do you want me to go to the Bloody Baron?" Percy demands, an another ghosts appears out of nowhere, looking thoroughly pleased with himself, holding the remaining walking sticks.

"Oooooh! Ickle Firsties! What fun!" He starts to dive-bomb at us, and instinctively, we duck, which is rather stupid, considering he's a ghost and would pass right through us. On the other hand, the walking sticks, I believe, are perfectly solid.

Percy grits his teeth and shouts, "Go away, Peeves, or the Baron'll hear about this, I mean it!"

Peeves just laughs in his face and sticks out his tongue, dropping the sticks on Neville's head. He then disappears, zooming down the corridor making obnoxious noises.

We start walking up again, and Percy gives us a short lesson on dealing with poltergeists. "The Bloody Baron's the only one who can control him, he won't even listen to us prefects. Here we are."

There is a painting of a fat lady in a pink dress hanging in front of us, with no door in sight. I frown, wondering if we'll have to sleep in the corridor. Liana said the Slytherin common room is under the lake, through a wall, but she never said exactly where...

"Password," The lady suddenly says, causing several students to jump back. Percy replies, "Caput Draconis." The lady nods, and the entire painting swings forward, revealing a small door-way in the wall, which we all pass through to get into the common room.

The common room is round, about as big as two classrooms put together, filled with comfortable looking armchairs and table to do homework on, as well as a fireplace that looks like it would be useful in the winter.

"Boys on the right, girls on the left. You'll find your luggage up there already."

A group of first-year girls and I slowly begin our descent up the long, circular staircase, finally arriving at a room with a plaque that says 'First Years'. Hermione reaches there first and pushes open the door to reveal a room about half the size of the common room, with four beds arranged around the center of the room. Our trunks are placed right next to it, and one girl whose name I don't really remember (it's a funny name, though, like her parents were naming her after an artist's palette) immediately goes over there and pull out a pair of pajamas, pulling the red curtains across her bed to change.

My stomach gives an embarrassing rumble, and the other girl whose name I don't know giggles. I shoot her a glare, which shuts her up, but Hermione frowns disapprovingly.

"Didn't you eat anything at the feast?"

I shake my head, regretting not giving into the voices in the back of my mind. Hermione rolls her eyes and heads over to her trunk, pulling out _Hogwarts, A History,_ and settling into her own bed to read. The other girl follows her example, and soon all three are asleep by the time I've changed into my pajamas as well.

I'm the last one to let my head hit the pillow, and at the same time, I do not close my eyes, instead staring up at the ceiling, a dark red. Less than twenty-four hours ago, I was saying good-bye to my mum at King's Cross. I was so sure I would be following in my sister's footsteps. This was supposed to be the best day of my life.

The ceiling begins to blur, and my eyes begin to burn, but I don't cry. I'm a Slytherin, aren't I? There has to be some kind of mistake. I'm not brave or courageous like a Gryffindor. I can't even tell my sister exactly what I think about the whole 'pureblood status' idea. There's got to be a mistake.

Isn't there?

…I'm so hungry.

* * *

><p><strong>Fail ending is a fail. <strong>

**Please read and review!**

**Mischief Managed!**


	5. Different Perspectives

**Thanks to Call Me Bitter, merlyn2, Mittenzs, Samalama, and harrypotter16 for reviewing!**

**Dedication: To spinning around until you're so dizzy you could puke.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter.**

* * *

><p>They always say the first day is the hardest – I suppose because this year, the first day is a Monday. However, I have to say, Tuesday comes pretty close.<p>

"HOW LONG DID YOU THINK YOU COULD GET AWAY WITH IT, HUH?"

…get away with what? Doesn't a letter usually state whatever business you want to discuss first?

"THIS IS A DISGRACE – NO, YOU'RE A DISGRACE! DO YOU KNOW HOW EMBARESSING THIS IS? HOW AM I GOING TO EXPLAIN THIS TO YOUR FATHER? HOW AM I GOING TO TELL ANY OF MY FRIENDS THAT MY YOUNGEST DAUGHTER IS IN BLOODY GRYFFINDOR?"

Maybe get new friends that aren't as foul and judging as your old ones?

"AND TO HEAR IT SECONDHAND FROM LIANA, WHEN YOU DIDN'T EVEN BOTHER TO SEND ME AN OWL! YOU HAVE NO IDEA HOW MUCH THAT HURTS ME!"

Oh, boo-hoo. I'm sure she was really hurt. Like she actually cared. All the feelings of sadness I had two days ago are completely gone now, replaced by only bitterness.

"WE NEVER HAD THIS PROBLEM WITH LIANA!"

Ooh, so I'm a 'problem' now, am I? That's a new one. Maybe I'll be disowned – it's bound to happen sooner or later. No real surprise there. My older sister has always been the favorite.

(Yes, I am rather overdramatic. So what?)

Speaking of which, Lia keeps sending me sympathetic glances from the Slytherin table, where most of the students are choking with restrained laughter, straining to hear every word. The students at the Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw tables seem faintly interested, while my Gryffindor 'classmates' have suddenly developed an intense curiosity in their breakfast. The scarlet letter I received moments ago still screams at me in octaves that seem beyond human pitch.

"WHAT WERE YOU THINKING? DO YOU HONESTLY THINK YOUR FATHER AND I WANT YOU HANGING AROUND WHATEVER RIFRAFF IS COLLECTED IN THAT BLOODY HOUSE? WE SENT YOU THERE TO GET A GOOD EDUCATION AND MAKE FRIENDS WITH ACCEPTABLE PERSONS, NOT TO BE ASSOCIATING WITH MUGGLE-BORNS AND BLOOD-TRAITORS! _DO YOU HEAR ME_?"

"Loud and clear," I mutter under my breath, as Neville Longbottom's goblet of pumpkin juice explodes, shards of glass flying everywhere. Students duck underneath the table as an older student whips out her wand and quickly repairs it.

Mum must be really mad. Usually she's able to hold her tongue about her political opinions in public – she has enough tact not to complain about Muggle Borns in front of, say, the Ministry of Magic. That's one of the few qualities my sister and I didn't inherit. But I suppose everyone has a breaking point.

"I WANT YOU TO SEND ME AN OWL WITH A FULL EXPLAINATION BY NEXT WEEK, UNDERSTAND? IF YOU DON'T, I SWEAR, I WILL BE GIVING ALBUS DUMBLEDORE A TALKING TO! THERE IS NO WAY A PROGERS WILL BE IN BLOODY GRYFFINDOR! NOT IN MY LIFETIME!"

Anyone know where I can find a wizard hitman?

"I AM VERY DISAPPOINTED IN YOU! DON'T EXPECT TO GET ANYTHING FOR CHRISTMAS! Sincerely, your very loving mother."

…loving? 'Bipolar' would be a better word.

The Howler bursts into flames in front of my face, the ashes falling and scattering across the remains of my breakfast (thank Merlin I ate my fill before the owls came). I blink, not exactly sure what to do. The Slytherins look like they're about to wet themselves with laughter, Draco Malfoy in particular looking very smug. Even Liana can't hold back a little smirk.

I continue to stare at the ashes, half afraid they might reform into another Howler, sent to scream at me for all eternity, when an annoying voice behind me says,

"Wow, a Howler on only your second day? I think you set a new record!"

"No, George, remember that time when we told all the first years that they had to tell their deepest secrets while wearing the Sorting Hat?"

"Oh, right. I swear, my right ear is still partially deaf. But still, not bad for an amateur!"

The Weasley twins raise their hands for high fives, which I just stare at, bewildered. What did Mum say about associating with Mudbloods and blood-traitors? Liana isn't smirking anymore – in fact, she's staring pointedly at me, daring me to respond.

"It isn't funny!" I snap, and stand up, inadvertently knocking over a goblet of pumpkin juice. The liquid mixes with the ashes, coating the table with a thick, murky black sort of goop. Grimacing, I gather up whatever books I need for today's lesson and stalk out of the room, ignoring glares from the rest of my (I mean, the Gryffindor) house, brushing past Harry Potter and Ron Weasley as they enter the Great Hall, obviously late after getting lost.

I linger at the doors just for a moment, looking back. Liana is no longer looking at me. She is instead turning to look at the other Slytherin prefect, smiling coyly as she flirts with him. My throat tightens – why can't I be more like that, less awkward and less…me.

"Sheesh, she's got no sense of humor."

"Pretty impressive Howler, though, you got to admit."

"Times like these I really appreciate our mum, don't you?"

* * *

><p>"Ooh, ickle firstie lost on her first day? Peevesie'd be happy to show you the way," The poltergeist leers at me as I check my timetable while walking up the stairs – no mere feat, considering the fact that the staircases are always continually moving. Wonder what would happen if someone fell off.<p>

"Outta my way, I know where I'm going," I growl, only to trip as the ancient-looking rug beneath me is pulled out from underneath my feet. Peeves cackles madly behind me, while I scowl and struggle to get up, pulling my bag along with me.

Stupid poltergeist, stupid moving stairs, stupid stupid stupid STUPID school.

By the time I finally make it to the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom, all of the rest of my classmates are seated, and staring at me as I burst through the door, panting and out of breath and ten minutes late by the clock.

The man in the purple turban standing at the front of the room looks up – Professor Quirrell, I think his name is. He looks rather pale and nervous, like a mouse who has been caught in a trap.

"O-oh, I-I s-see you-re f-finally h-h-here," He stutters, gesturing to an empty seat in the back. "P-Please s-sit d-down. I'll excuse y-your t-tardiness since i-it's your f-first w-week."

I open my mouth to say thank you, only to be overcome with a powerful, rather disgusting smell. Garlic? Some kind of herb invades my nostrils and threatens to choke me, so I can only sit down next to Parvati Patil and try to breathe through my mouth. I hate garlic. I don't care if a bloody vampire comes and kills me in my sleep, I hate the stupid stinking thing.

"I-I b-believe most of y-you h-have noticed my c-classroom smells st-strongly of g-garlic," Quirrell stutters, making almost everything he says almost impossible to understand. It's rather annoying, yet pitiful. I wonder if this is his first time teaching – Liana says no Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher lasts more than a year due to accidents, being sacked, etcetera, etcetera.

Poor guy.

"I h-happened to m-meet a v-vampire in Romania o-over the s-summer, and I'm a-afraid we didn't p-part on g-good terms. So, th-therefore, I have d-decided to p-protect m-myself."

Oh, that makes sense. No wonder he stutters, he's scared stiff of being attacked by a vampire any day now. Silly me.

I fold my arms on the top of my desk and lower my head onto them. Mostly all the teachers have been doing these first few days is orientation-like things, telling us about what we will be studying this term, how long they've been here, how their subject is way more important than the other subjects, blah, blah, blah…

"O-oh, this t-turban? An A-African p-prince gave it t-to me as a g-gift for g-getting rid of a z-zombie. N-nasty things they a-are, zombies, and th-they w-were v-very grateful o-once I s-saved the v-village."

"How did you get rid of it, Professor?" Seamus Finnegan asks interestedly from somewhere in the front of the room. Professor Quirrell's eyes widen and he goes very pink, muttering something unintelligible.

"S-so, how a-are you a-all l-liking your f-first d-day at H-H-hogwarts? I remember m-my f-first day…"

Some people are meant to be teachers. Some just aren't. Professor Quirrell is somewhere in between – he's definitely not the teaching type, but I don't exactly think he'd be able to survive in the real world either.

Quirrell continues to chatter (or rather, stutter) on about what we'll be learning, the creatures he's met, why his subject is better than the others, his previous career as a Muggle Studies professor, which might be interesting _if I could understand a single thing he's saying_.

My eyes begin to feel rather heavy. It's only the second day, and already I'm bored. I came here to learn magic, not listen to some half-wit cowardly teacher drone on and on. This is almost worse than History of Magic (despite being taught by a ghost, which is rather ironic – there's nothing deader than history), and even then you somewhat expect that to be boring. But Defense Against the Dark Arts is supposed to be exciting, and you're supposed to learn loads of spells and jinxes and curses…

"O-Of course, w-we s-save h-higher level spells f-for the o-older students, y-you're not q-quite at th-that l-level yet…"

…Talk about doxie droppings on my parade. Well, no use staying awake anymore, right?

Snore.

* * *

><p>Friday's our last day on 'orientation week', as I like to call our first few days, which includes nothing but talk, talk, talk. Okay, so there was that small lesson in Transfiguration where we had to change a match into a needle, but no one but Hermione Granger could figure out how to work the bloody thing. The girl is pretty clever, for a Mudblo – Muggle Born.<p>

I've already sent my mum a letter explaining everything, so no Howlers as of late. I do, however, feel very sorry for the owl that I used to send the letter – Mum can't get rid of a school owl, but she's not above hexing its wings together or something of that sort. I remember when I was eight and she received an owl about Liana missing points on a Charms exam. I doubt _that_ bird will be flying anytime soon.

Liana hasn't spoken a single word to me since the Sorting – maybe she's afraid associating with me will drag her popularity down. After all, I'm not exactly the friendliest Gryffindor around. Actually, I still don't think I'm a Gryffindor, and I act accordingly. I don't talk to anyone at meals, barely speak a word during class, and avoid most of my house in the corridors. The only person I've even had a decent conversation with is Neville Longbottom, and that was to inform him that the hem of his robes had somehow caught fire from the torches that light the corridors.3

The Mudbl – ack, Muggle Born girl, Hermione Granger, sits next to me sometimes at meals, but usually her head is too stuck in a book to even talk to me. I'm not about to break the ice either – I'm perfectly fine in my own little hermit world until Mum or Liana talks to the headmaster about my transfer to Slytherin.

Speaking of which, today we have double Potions with the rest of the Slytherin first years today. Professor Snape is the head of Slytherin house – maybe I can talk to him about a transfer. Liana says he's very nice. Ron Weasley says it's because Professor Snape favors Slytherins as head of their house.

Me? I don't know what do believe, mostly because I'm still reeling from the Dungbomb someone set off in the fourth-floor corridor this morning. Peeves and the Weasley twins thought it was hilarious, but I, even after taking at least five showers, have yet to agree.

"You are here to learn the subtle science and exact art of potionmaking. As there is little foolish-wand-waving here, many of you will hardly believe this is magic. I don't expect you will really understand the beauty of the softly simmering cauldron with its shimmering fumes," _Yawn._ "The delicate power of liquids that creep through human veins, bewitching the mind, ensnaring the senses…"

The dungeon, where the Potions class currently takes place, is creepy enough with its vials and liquids and floaty stuff in bottles that I swear stare at you when you walk by, we really don't need a vibrant speech to understand the true message – _mess around, and we're not paying for your funeral_.

"I can teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory, and even stopper death." Professor Snape's beetle-black eyes eerily pass over each one of us as he speaks in barely a whisper, letting the words hang there in the chilly dungeon air. "If you aren't as big a bunch of dunderheads I usually have to teach."

_Such encouraging words,_ I think drily. _You really love your job, don't you?_

"Potter!" The exclamation makes me (and most of the class) jump. "What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?"

Why is he asking Potter? The kid's been raised by Muggles his entire life, he wouldn't know a thing about potionmaking. Even I'm not sure what's the answer – isn't the idea of school is to learn, not to know everything before we come here?

"I don't know, sir." The answer is plain, and causes many of the Slytherins to giggle. A girl in front of me even turns around in her seat to sneer at Harry, who looks like he'd like to disappear right about now. Professor Snape's next comment makes it even worse.

"Tut, tut – fame clearly isn't anything." He seems to be enjoying this little scene, and completely ignores Hermione Granger, who looks like she's going to wet herself with excitement. No wonder – she had been devouring _One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi_ at breakfast this morning and probably could match wits with a seventh-year student at the moment. But Professor Snape doesn't even notice.

"Let's try again. Potter, where would you look if I told you to find me a bezoar?"

The Slytherins are trying unsuccessfully to stifle their laughter. Tiny snorts and snickers echo, bouncing off the stone walls, making it nearly impossible to hear Harry's answer.

"I don't know, sir."

"Thought you wouldn't open a book before coming, eh, Potter?"

I sneak another glance at Harry, who is looking more and more deflated. Despite everything, I feel less sorry for myself and more for him. After all, I'm not the one being picked on and criticized for every little thing.

"What is the difference, Potter, between monkshood and wolfsbane?"

Hermione stands up so fast she nearly knocks over her chair, but Professor Snape ignores this to stare Harry down. The boy simply stares back blankly, before glancing over at Hermione, who looks like she's swallowed ten Peppermint Frogs, almost jumping up and down.

"I don't know. I think Hermione does though, why don't you try her?"

I laugh, along with about two other people. Seamus Finnegan even throws a wink in Harry's direction. Everyone else, though, holds their breath and waits for Professer Snape to explode.

Predictably, he scowls and tells Hermione to sit down, who does so with a disappointed expression. He then glares at Harry through his greasy hair and snarls, "For your information, Potter, asphodel and wormwood make a sleeping potion so powerful it is known as the Draught of the Living Death. A bezoar is a stone taken from the stomach of a goat and it will save you from most poisons."

_Why didn't you just say 'a stone from a goat's stomach'?_ I think irritably, half because Harry is being chastised unnecessarily and half because if I had been asked, I wouldn't have a clue either. That's the thing about magic – if you want a Tickling Charm, you don't point your wand and say, "Tickling Charm." It's "Rictumsempra" or something Latin like that. Apparently being a wizard or a witch means there's no such thing as an obvious answer.

"As for monkshood and wolfbane, they are the same plant, which also goes by the name of aconite." See? I think the teachers want us to fail. "Well? Why aren't you all copying this down?"

Snape turns to the rest of us, and we all quickly pull out our quills and parchment, trying our best to make it look like we have been taking notes the entire time. "And a point will be taken from Gryffindor for your cheek, Potter." He adds over the scratching sound of ink being applied to paper.

"I am going to separate all of you into pairs now, and you will attempt to create a simple potion to cure boils. I am sure that most of you," Here he stops and looks pointedly at Harry, who just stares back with equal hatred. "Will be able to produce it properly. The instructions are on the board," He points his wand at the board, and cramped handwriting fills the board. "And ingredients are in the cupboard over there. You will have the rest of the lesson to finish it."

I am paired with Pansy Parkinson, the smirking Slytherin girl from before. She has a sour disposition and a rather ugly looking face. I suspect she might also have been dropped on her head when she was little, because she's obviously lacking in a few brains cells, as proven when she completely disregards the second line of the instructions _(Crush into a fine powder using the pestle)_ and attempts to mash the snake fangs with a combination of her hands and my wand.

"Oi!" I shout over the bubbling of liquids in cauldrons and snatch my wand from the girl's grasp, handing her the pestle instead. "If you're going to be stupid, snap your own wand, not mine!"

"I'm not stupid!" She scowls. "And you've heated the potion for fifteen seconds, not ten! Who're you calling the idiot?"

Professor Snape decides right around now to stick his abnormally large nose in our direction, frowning displeasured into the mixture. "Miss Parkinson is right, Miss Progers, you left the potion on the fire too long. It is now worthless."

Pansy sticks her tongue out at me like an eight-year old once Snape's back is turned. I scowl back, waving my wand over the potion like the next instruction states, even though now it's a lost cause. I hear Draco say smugly behind me, "Professor, did I stew my slugs right?"

"Excellent, Mr. Malfoy. I suggest the rest of you turn to your right and see the perfect example of the horned slugs that Mr. Malfoy has concocted. Once added to the potion, they will become the primary ingredient to lower the swelling of th-"

Snape is cut off by furious coughing from the far right corner of the room. I look up from my failure of a potion to choke on green smoke welling up from where Neville and Seamus used to be. A bright orange liquid spreads onto the floor, reaching just to my shoes.

"Ow!"

I pull my foot back and find a smoking hole in the leather, my blue striped sock just peeking through it. Pansy Parkinson is standing on her stool and screeching, though it doesn't even compete with the horrible whimpering Neville makes as he scratches furiously at the numerous boils swelling up from all parts of his body. Apparently he had somehow knocked the cauldron over or something and then was drenched by the potion.

"Idiot boy! I suppose you added the porcupine quills before taking the cauldron off the fire. Take him to the hospital wing," Snape snarls as he vanishes the potion with a wave of his wand. Seamus gulps and quickly helps Neville up to take him to the infirmary for the boils (which really doesn't make much sense, does it? I mean, we're in a bloody potions classroom making a cure for boils – one of us is bound to get it right).

"You – Potter!" Snape snaps at Harry next, who looks up from his potion in surprise, obviously not expecting this turn of events. "Why didn't you tell him not to add the quills? Thought he'd make you look good if he got it wrong, did you? That's another point you've lost for Gryffindor."

"That's so unfair!" The words are out of my mouth before I can stop them, and the entire class turns to look at me. My face must be as red as Hermione's potion, but I continue. "I mean, Harry probably didn't know either. Y-You can't just assume, um, that he wanted to make Neville look bad…"

…Why do I sound like Professor Quirrell?

Professor Snape narrows his eyes at me now, and speaks in a plain whisper that floats through the dungeon to the ears of everyone. "Well, looks like Potter has already got a fan club. One point from Gryffindor, Miss Progers, and perhaps next time you would be as wise to keep your mouth shut."

Hermione glares at me, her perfect potion bubbling happily beside her. Between Harry and I, we've just lost all the points she's earned for the match-to-needle Transfiguration. I sink down further in my seat, wishing someone would just cast a Silencing Charm or something on me for the rest of the day.

Snape turns back to the rest of the class, sweeping his black cloak behind him for dramatic effect. "Continue. I do not recall asking any of your to stop. There will be no need for talking."

Pansy Parkinson is shaking with laughter, so hard she nearly decapitates the horned slug we are supposed to be stewing. "You going to start a Potter fan club then, Progers?"

"Shuttup."

"Ooooh, I'm so scared. What are you going to do, sic your sister on me?"

_Why does everyone say that?_ I think as I wave my wand over the potion again, watching as it turns a foul green-orange color – nowhere close to what it's supposed to look like. _I'm perfectly capable of taking care of myself without Liana, right?_

The hour passes without another incident. A huge chiming bell from far above the room, from the castle's bell tower, alerts us of the end of the lesson. The students around me begin to pack up, stowing ingredients away and filing out of the classroom. I try to catch Harry's eye as he exits the classroom, just to let him know I have no intention of starting a fan club, but he rushes by with Ron Weasley without a second glance.

Pansy Parkinson stuffs her books into her bag and runs off to catch up with Draco, who wears a self-satisfied smirk on his pointed face. No wonder – Gryffindor's lost three whole points in one lesson, currently putting Slytherin ahead for the House Cup.

Oh, that reminds me. I still need to ask Professor Snape if I could transfer to Slytherin. I stand up abruptly, nearly knocking over a jar of pickled eel, and rush over to the teacher's desk, where Snape is currently grading a myriad of essays on the properties of dragon blood.

"Excuse me, sir," I start, and Snape looks up, an annoyed expression crossing his face. I'd better be quick. "I was wondering, since you're head of Slytherin, and since my sister happens to be in that house, I was just wondering if you could possibly, I mean, since you're the head and all, that maybe you could possibly-"

"If you're asking for a transfer to Slytherin from Gryffindor, I'm afraid you're wasting your time, Miss Progers." Professor Snape interrupts in a bored tone. "There has never been a transfer in the history of Hogwarts, even if I am the head of the house."

I had been expecting this, the whole 'oh, but there's never ever been a transfer so why break tradition', so I quickly move forward. "Yes, but there's always a first time, right?" I try to keep a cheerful smile on my face, but I'm afraid Liana's better at sucking up to teachers than I am. "And, I mean, since my sister's in that house, I figured that maybe the Sorting Hat made a mistake, since, y'know, most families are put in the same house, right? Since we're so alike?"

My argument seems very strong, and I mentally pat myself on the back for thinking of it. The last sentence seemed like a very good point, one that Snape can't argue with, right?

Snape marks an essay with a clear 'D' in red ink, ignoring me for the time being while I stand here mentally congratulating myself. If I don't hurry up, I'm going to be late to Herbology.

…

Wow, that essay must be really bad. It's taking forever, and I crane my head to see the name written at the top. 'Fred Weasley'. Oh, it figures…

Finally, Snape looks up.

"Miss Progers, I will not repeat myself again. There has never been, nor will there ever be, a transfer." The next words are laced with so much venom, you could kill a snake with them. "As for your previous point, you are sadly mistaken. You and your sister may share the same blood, but you are nothing alike."

* * *

><p>"Why in the world would you want a transfer?" Hermione snaps, obviously displeased about being dragged out of her book (<em>Modern Magical History<em>) to hear my sob-story, complete with rants about how I am obviously Slytherin material and calling Professor Snape every foul word my sister has ever used (and a few I made up myself).

"Because I don't belong in Gryffindor!" I retort, crossing my arms and staring at my Charms homework. It is around three o'clock, and, being a Friday, we have the afternoon off to do whatever we please. Figuring it would be better than sulking alone, I decided to follow Hermione to the Great Hall to join in on her major study session, during which she studies madly like a student before a test (which she does pretty much every day).

"What makes you think you're not a Gryffindor?" Hermione asks drily, turning a page in her book. I fume, wanting to yell at her, but that would attract unwanted attention,

"What do you think?" I hiss, furiously crossing a 't' on 'incantation'. "I'm not brave, or courageous or full of wit or whatever bloody thing the stupid house requires! No one likes me here anyway, so I might as well-"

"Have you ever thought that maybe people don't like you because you don't try to be liked?" Hermione finally puts down her book to look me in the eye, annoyance written across her features. "Instead of following me around all day like a lost puppy because you can't make any friends yourself, why don't you try to be nice to people instead of continually acting like they're so much beneath you?"

Those words are pretty fierce, and I bite my tongue before I can call her a 'hypocrite', because then she would be right. I have pretty much whined and complained about my current situation this entire week, and when I wasn't doing that, I was giving everyone the cold shoulder. I'm surprised Hermione hadn't snapped sooner.

Hermione's stern gaze softens, and she throws out a piece of advice before returning to her book. "Try to be friendlier or something. And quit sulking about not being like your sister – no one wants to be a clone anyway."

"Hypocrite," I finally mutter under my breath, but I mean it as more of a friendly insult. An ice cube is warmer and friendlier than she is, but as of now, she's the only lifeline I have.

"Hey!" Someone shouts from down the table, and everyone turns towards Dean Thomas, who is waving a copy of the Daily Prophet furiously. "Just got this from Seamus – they've got more info on the Gringott's break in!"

Hermione 'tsks', and moves her books to a different table as a crowd begins to form around Dean, who lays the paper on the table for all to see. Curious, I join in. Liana had said something about break-in at Gringotts, but I hadn't paid much attention, being too excited about going to Hogwarts. Now that I think about it, Gringotts is supposed to be impossible to break into.

"I heard somebody say it's You-Know-Who."

"Can't be, he's dead."

I crane my neck to get a look at the paper, catching a few words like 'July 31', and 'emptied the same day'. People are all whispering and coming up with theories on who did it.

"I'm telling you, it had to be some kind of Dark Wizard!"

"If it was really You-Know-Who, he would have known that it would have been emptied earlier!"

"What if it was an inside job?" I find myself muttering, and Lavender Brown turns around to look at me, eyes wide, seemingly forgetting the fact that I am (or was) an enemy.

"Oh! What if one of the goblins was controlled or something?"

This sends a new ripple of thoughts. People discuss theories among themselves for a few minutes, before Dean rolls up the paper and the crowd disperses, leaving Hermione and I alone again. I slump down in front of my homework again, as if someone has piled thirty textbooks on top of me. At least for the last two days I had some hope that I could be accepted by one of the houses, even if it was Slytherin, but now I certainly don't have a chance, after acting like such a prat.

"Well, that went rather well."

When Hermione smiles, her beaver-teeth don't stand out as much, and she doesn't look as fierce or annoyed at me. In fact, if she weren't such a know-it-all, I wouldn't mind her being my only company. "You're actually nice when you're not trying to be a prat."

I look down at my homework, noting how the words seem to blur and I wouldn't have a chance of writing in an answer. "Well, you're okay when you're not having a seizure while trying to answer a question."

Hermione is silent, and for a second I think I might have let my big mouth turn a joke into an insult, but when I look over, she's buried back in her book again, a faint trace of a smile on her lips.

A Muggle born bookworm and a 'Slytherin princess'. What a pair of friends we are, if you can call it friendship.

It takes me a moment, but I realize that I've spoken more often today than I have the entire week.

**Fail ending. Again. I wanted Kate to be like one of those annoying, stuck-up girls everyone always hates, but she doesn't know any better. Well, she does, but it never occured to her that maybe people would like her better if she was herself rather than whatever twisted version of herself her mother and sister want her to be (now that I think about it, her father doesn't come up in it that often...)**

**Please read and review! Tell me what you think! I would love constructive criticism of any kind!**

**Mischief Managed!**


	6. Forget it

**Ugh, I feel like nothing happened in this chapter. It's more of a Kate still coming to terms of being Gryffindor (her first week of not being a human ice cube). Next chapter is going to be really interesting though. (Halloween, Quidditch trials, Kate making a few friends). But you see a little more of Kate's true personality in her actions this chapter, so you could say it's some improvement.**

**Thanks to Call Me Bitter and Panther-Kaia-Lily for reviewing! Vitural hugs! **

**I do not own Harry Potter. Rachel Zytera belongs to the lovely Panthera-Kaia-Lily. I am simply borrowing her. Read her story "Not Kidding" for more on her. **

**Dedication: To anyone who's ever forgotten something really, really, REALLY important. It happens to me on a regular basis. **

* * *

><p>"There are four balls and seven players, you know, and they're all on brooms. My father took me to the last World Cup, it was last year. I was only ten, and we took a Portkey all the way to America because it was their turn to host it, but I got such bad Portkey sickness that I missed half of the final match – Liana told me it was very good, but I really had been looking forward to seeing the Luxemborg team play! And the next one isn't for three more years! Well, at least Britain's hosting it, I can't wait to see who makes it into the finals. Personally, I think Bulgaria's got a good chance, they've got Clara Ivanoa as a reserve and there's supposed to be this really good newbie Seeker playing at Durmstrang-"<p>

"Kate!" Hermione cries out in a furious half-shout, half-whisper. I've been talking about Quidditch on and off for the last hour and half, much to her dismay. We're currently in the Hogwarts library, pouring over whatever book she needs to complete her Transfiguration essay (two rolls of parchment more than what Professor McGonagall required). I've heard people say that we'll be learning to fly soon. Of course, I don't need to learn, but I could use a few pointers.

"What?" I ask, surprised that she isn't completely immersed in my tale. I mean, I practically had a play-by-play analysis of the last game I had seen, Appleby Arrows (my absolutely favorite team ever) versus the Wimbourne Wasps. "Oh, are you finished?"

Hermione nods, and closes her books, pushing her bushy hair out of her eyes. "That should be good enough. I just hope she won't notice I left out the proper definition of Untransfiguration."

Untrans-what? Talking to Hermione means that you have to ignore words you don't know and fill in the rest. You won't always get all the facts, but it'll keep your head from exploding.

"How much did you write?" I ask, picking up the scroll of parchment from the rectangular table and examining the glistening ink. Her handwriting is much neater than mine, and I scan it over, looking for familiar words. I find none. "Didn't she say we only need a foot?"

"I thought she said a foot and half," Hermione frowns, snatching her essay away and rolling it up to stow in her bag. "And what did you get for the definition of the trans-species Transfiguration?"

"Trans-species Transfiguration? I wrote about Human Transfiguration!"

"Er, no," Hermione pulls out her planner and show me the homework, written plainly in black and white: _Label and describe in detail the four branches of Transfiguration and two of the sub-types of General Transfiguration (Trans-species and Switching)._

Well…phoenix feathers.

"Oh no," I lean forward, putting my head on my hands. Why do the teachers have to give us so much homework? I mean, learning magic is exciting, but it's bloody _hard_. You have to concentrate, memorize millions of spells, pronounce the stupid Latin phrases right (because the ancient wizards had something against plain English, it seems) and even then it doesn't always work. "I need to rewrite half of my essay!"

"Actually, more than that, you're missing about half a foot," Hermione adds gently, trying to be helpful but only succeeding in stressing me out even more. "Here – I'll lend you the books you'll need. Besides, you've already gotten started on tomorrow's homework, so that's good."

I miserably reach for my quill and ink, pulling out a fresh roll of parchment. Hermione begins to pack up her things. The lights in the library are becoming lower and lower, and Madam Pince is throwing me dirty looks as she attempts to clean imaginary dust off of the spines of numerous books.

Finally, Hermione stands up. "It's getting late, I'm going back to the common room. See you tomorrow, then?" I just nod, my eyes scanning over the text of _A Beginner's Guide to Transfiguration. _The words are beginning to blur, and I think I've read the same line for the fifth time. _"Spells of this type, spells of this type, type of these spells, might be wells, donald see kells..."_

…_._

…_._

…_._

"Hey, I'd watch out if I were you," A voice from behind me says. "If you drool, Madam Pince will have your head."

I open my eyes, adjusting to the darkness of the library, and look towards the clock. It's nearly 8:00 now, almost time for the library to close. I sit up abruptly, looking around for the source of the advice. I really hope it's not a ghost, I hate it when ghosts sneak up on me. Peeves seems to think I'm some sort of source of entertainment – constantly on the way to classes, he'll sneak up behind me and grab my nose, screaming, "GOT YOUR CONK!" So annoying, not to mention embarrassing. But even regular ghosts freak me out, even Nearly Headless Nick, who is usually pleasant to talk to.

I'm relieved when I see it's only a girl with spiky blue hair and really pretty green eyes. She looks like a third year, and I quickly rub the side of my mouth to get rid of any 'drool'.

This makes her laugh a little, and she pulls out her wand, pointing it at my essay. I'm about to ask her what exactly she is doing, before realizing that I have spilled ink all over the parchment – any words I had finished are now illegible. Under her careful spell work, the ink recedes back into the bottle, leaving shining words in its place.

More words than I had originally written, I notice. Actually, the essay's finished, and the girl stows her wand away with a smile before holding out her hand. "Rachel Zytera, nice to meet you."

I stare at her hand, and then back at her, mouth agape as the name clicks in my mind. "Y-Your last name is Zytera? Like Zytera Candy & Jokes?" Zytera Candy & Jokes is a main supplier and manufacturer of numerous candies like Chocolate Frogs and Bertie Botts Every Flavor Beans. They do a real good business in Hogwarts students, considering the lunch trolley on the Hogwarts express carries pretty much all their merchandise.

Rachel nods, her hair turning a shade of pink, probably from embarrassment. My jaw drops again. "You're a Matamorfo – a Metaglapigu – a Metamorphonus?" I twist my mouth around the word, a word my sister has used a few times, a word that pretty much means shape shifter.

"Metamorphmagus," Rachel corrects, turning her hair back to the bright blue. "It's okay, though, you're a first year. You don't really learn about Human Transfiguration until your second term, and even then it's only theoretical. Still, it's pretty cool for jokes and such. See?" She grins, and her hair and eyes turn a shade of brown, and she becomes smaller and scrawnier. I'm now sitting next to a living clone of myself.

Despite everything, I grin too. "Wicked. Can you teach me?"

Rachel shakes her – er, my head. "Sorry, Metamorphmagi are born, not taught." She tilts her head and her hair changes to a dark black, a small scar appearing on her forehead. "Okay, guess who this is."

"Harry Potter," I guess immediately, and she grins, changing her appearance again, this time to resemble a short, squat wizard with a shock of white hair.

"_Now, wave your wands, just like this, and try to make the pineapple dance. I don't care if it's the Macarena or a waltz, just make sure it's moving," She_ says in an extremely squeaky voice, and I crack up.

"P-Professor Fl-Flitwick," I choke through my fit of giggles, and 'Flitwick' beams, tossing her head and turning into an almost exact replication of a fifth year girl with long blonde hair and green eyes and a haughty expression on her face.

"Excuse me, but you are offending me by existing," She says in a high-pitched voice that sounds eerily familiar. "Move out of my way – I'm a pureblood, in case you didn't notice, and therefore superior to you scum." Rachel drops the voice and smiles down at me. "Guess who that was?"

I open my mouth to reply, but no words come out. I can't sort out whether I'm angry or hurt or embarrassed or any combination of the three. Finally, I turn to the book I was reading and slam it, causing Madam Pince to stalk her way towards us, waving her wand threateningly.

"You do not _slam_ books, you imbecile!" She screeches. "Do you know how damaging that is to the pages? Out! Out!"

She points towards the door, and I gladly roll up my now finished essay, stuffing it into my bag and hurrying out the library door, ignoring Rachel's confused expression. I pass the Charms classroom, numerous suits of armor and portraits settling down to sleep, almost reaching the statue of Gunhilda of Gorsemoor, a one-eyed witch with a hump who discovered the cure for dragon pox, before I hear her running behind me.

"Hey, you, wait!"

Being a third-year, her legs are longer than mine and she quickly catches up. We walk in silence through the corridor, heading towards the Gryffindor common room. I pull back a tapestry to walk up a staircase that leads to the floor above, something I had discovered a few days ago on the way to History of Magic Finally, as we begin to ascend the stairs, Rachel breaks the silence.

"What did you say your name was again?"

I didn't. I lower my head and mumble, "Kate Progers." When I see that my reaction and my name don't quite click in her head, I add, "I'm Liana Progers' younger sister. You were imitating Liana in the library, weren't you?"

Now it's Rachel's turn to stand, shell-shocked. I can understand why. I used to think that I was Liana's other half, had planned to become exactly like her, but now all I ever hear is that we're polar opposites, not in just looks, but in nature and abilities too. No wonder she had no idea we were related.

"O-Oh, man, I'm really sorry," Rachel begins to stutter, her face and hair turning a red that could rival Ron Weasley's. "I had no clue, I mean…wow. That must have been awkward, huh?"

"You think?" I mutter, only to realize how sarcastic and mean that must sound. "Oops. Sorry. It's okay, really. I mean, my sister isn't always the most…pleasant person. But she's my sister, so…yeah." I take one more step up the staircase, only to fall through on the trick step. It's a step that looks like a step, only it isn't, just plain air. I sink in all the way to my knee, holding onto the railing to keep me from falling in further. "You're KIDDING me!"

Rachel chuckles, and grabs one of my arms to help pull me out. After struggling for a few moments, I finally manage to wrench my foot out of the staircase and onto the ground. "Blimey, can anything else go wrong?"

"How about missing curfew?" Rachel suggests, and points to her watch. "First years have a 8:00 curfew. You've got about 45 minutes to get to the common room."

I look down the corridor. "Oh, galloping gorgons…which way is the Grand Staircase?"

Rachel points to her left, down the corridor where I can barely make out a staircase moving from side to side. I start off that way, before she calls, "Hey, I can show you a shortcut, if you want."

I turn around, one hand on my hip. "How would you there's a shortcut? This place is huge!"

She just gives a cryptic smile. "Did I mention that I know Fred and George Weasley and they know more about this school than half the teachers? Trust me. I know what I'm doing."

Rachel heads off in the opposite direction, her head up and back straight, obviously going whether I'm coming or not. I can't help but marvel at her certainty, like she isn't afraid of doing anything wrong. Does that have something to do with being a Gryffindor, or is she just naturally confident?

With nothing better to do, I hoist my bag over my shoulder and follow the blue-haired girl. It isn't that hard, her hair is pretty bright. She leads me past the statue of Boris the Bewildered, a wizard who looks as lost as I feel with his gloves on the wrong hands. Several hidden staircases and one left turn later, we're standing in front of the Fat Lady, much to my amazement, in less than five minutes.

Rachel grins at me. "See? Told ya."

Without thinking, I return the smile. "That was bloody brilliant! How'd you find that out? Is there like some kind of map or something? Where I can I buy it?"

"Slow down, will you?" Rachel laughs. "You can't buy a map, you just have to learn your way. By the way, what's the password? It changed yesterday, but I can't remember."

Oh. Uh-oh. I forgot the password too. I scratch the back of my head nervously and look at the Fat Lady. "Uh…Caput Draconis?"

The Fat Lady shakes her head. "Nope. Not it."

"Uh…Open Sesame?"

"Nuh-uh."

"…Openus Portraitus?"

"What was that?" The Fat Lady asks disgustedly. "That was pitiful – it wasn't even Latin!"

"Nice try, though," Rachel mutters, sitting down on the floor and leaning against the wall, putting her chin in her hand, her hair turning a lilac color as she thinks. "Lemme concentrate, maybe it'll come back."

"The password is…the password?" I suggest lamely, just to see what reaction I'll get. The Fat Lady sighs, dropping her head to her hands, her black curls falling around her face.

"No."

"Open?"

"No."

"….Oooh! 'Draco dormiens nunquam titallandus!'" I say, feeling very proud of myself for remembering the Hogwarts motto (_Never tickle a sleeping dragon_, although that should be rather obvious). The Fat Lady glares at me.

"For the last time, no!"

"Gryffindors are great?"

"This is becoming just pathetic…" Rachel moans as she bangs her head against the wall in an attempt to remember. I continue to guess password after password after password after password after password after password…

* * *

><p>"Good morning!"<p>

"Lovely day, isn't it?"

"I'm surprised Filch didn't find you two out here."

"Password's 'Pig Snout', by the way."

"How long did you two try to guess?"

I grumpily open one eye to see the Weasley twins grinning down at Rachel and I. I'm already in a foul mood, having to sleep outside the Fat Lady's portrait on the floor, and I can tell Rachel's no better. She moodily glares up at the two through her tangled hair, mussed up from sleeping against the wall.

"Oh, shut up," She snaps, and stands up. "Next time you two forget the password, don't expect me to help you."

"One problem Ray, we never forget the password," One of them grins, and Rachel rolls her eyes exasperatedly. "What are you doing out here with that Slytherin princess anyway?"

"The 'Slytherin princess' is leaving now," I snap, standing up and pulling my bag with me, sending them a smoldering glare. "And you _both_ are a bunch of gits. Move out of my way, I want to get into the common room."

Not one of my best comebacks, but its 6:00 in the morning and I'm still in my robes from last night and I'm feeling especially cranky. The twins move out of my way as commanded, still smirking. Rachel sends me an apologetic glance, but I ignore it.

The portrait opens, and I step through to be met by Hermione, who is already dressed to head towards the Great Hall for breakfast.

"Where were you last night? I thought once you finished your essay you'd come right back to the common room! You didn't break curfew, did you? You could have lost Gryffindor points! What were you doing?" She hisses, anger apparent in her tone. "Why are you in the same clothes from last night?"

"I'm sorry, I got locked out of the common room because the stupid password's 'Pig Snout'. Happy?" I scowl, pushing her aside and heading for the first year's girl dormitory. It isn't until I'm halfway up the stairs that I realize today's Thursday, our first flying lesson.

Great. Not only have I seriously messed up my first week of not being a human ice cube, but now everyone gets to watch me fall off a broom. Joy.

* * *

><p>"And then the next thing I know, there's this huge Muggle flying contraption leering in front of me, this great ugly Muggle pressing his face to the window like this," Draco makes a face, sending the fellow Slytherins into waves of laughter, Pansy Parkinson in particular giving a loud giggle. "So I daringly jump off the broom, one hand holding onto the wood like this, you see, and then-"<p>

"You fell off and landed on the ground with a splat. Ta-da, no more Draco," I interrupt loudly, causing Dean Thomas to laugh and Draco to glare at me.

"Oh shut up Kate, we all know you can't stay on a broom for longer than ten seconds," He sneers back, and the Slytherins erupt in giggles again. I clench my fist and raise it, ready to punch him in the nose, but Hermione grabs my hand, obviously having forgiven me for my irritable attitude earlier.

"Come on, he's not worth it, and we're going to be late," She warns, and pulls me along, down the steps to the grounds. There are about twenty broomsticks laid across the lawn, and a teacher with short gray hair and a fierce look about her stands by them, yelling at stragglers to hurry up.

"Well then, what are you waiting for?" She shouts, and some of us take a step back at her sharp tone. Liana told me that Madam Hooch is very strict when it comes to flying, but I never imagined this. "Everyone stand by broomstick. Come on, hurry up."

We all move accordingly, staring down at our brooms and hoping that maybe we'll stay on longer than our neighbor does. Madam Hooch stands at the front, making sure none of us are doing it wrong (although I don't see how one possibly could).

"Stick your right hand over your broom and say 'UP!'"

"UP!"

Some people's brooms, like Harry Potter's, jump right up into their hands. Others, like Neville's or Hermione's, just lie there. Mine does back flips, begs for a bone, flies around in circles, and then lands on the ground without jumping into my hand once.

(How can a BROOM be mocking me?)

Finally, everyone, through one means or another, manages to pick up their broom and begins to mount it. Madam Hooch walks up and down the rows, telling us we're holding the broom wrong or too tight or too loose or whatever else we could possibly do wrong. Fortunately, I am considered passable, while others (*coughcoughDracocough*) are considered lucky not to have had a major accident in their toddler years.

"Now," Madam Hooch says once she deems everyone adequate enough. "When I blow my whistle, you kick off the ground, hard. Keep your brooms steady, rise a few feet…"

"Now?" Neville whispers, only loud enough for me to hear. "I don't know what to do…"

"Listen," I hiss back. "She'll tell you."

"…then come straight back down by leaning forward slightly. On my whistle. Three-"

"I can't do this!"

"-Two-"

"Oh for the love of Merlin, Neville, it isn't that hard, just kick off of the ground!" I scowl harshly, and Neville jumps a little at my tone, rising up higher, higher up in the air.

Wow. Never knew Neville could jump that high.

Then I realize his broom isn't on the ground.

Well….Phoenix feathers.

"Come back, boy!" Madam Hooch shouts, but Neville obviously has no control over his broom. He rises higher and higher and higher, his face as white as chalk, until finally he loses his grip on one hand – and then the other – and then…

Someone (I think Parvati Patil) screams and Neville is lying face down on the grass. The broomstick speeds off towards the Forbidden Forest, and Madam Hooch rushes over to Neville before any of us can even take a step.

"Broken wrist," She announces, and helps him up. Neville's face is tear-stained, and he's whimpering, holding out his wrist. Madam Hooch steers him towards the castle, pausing only to tell us in her most threatening voice, "None of you move while I take this boy to the hospital wing! You leave those brooms where they are or you'll be out of Hogwarts before you can say 'Quidditch.'"

…Quidditch. There, I said it.

Draco begins to laugh cruelly. "Did you see his face, the great lump?" The other Slytherins begin to howl with laughter, some of it obviously forced. The Gryffindors all glare at him, obviously ready to stand up for their fellow classmate. Not surprisingly, I am just as willing as they are to give Draco a slap across the face.

"Shut up, Malfoy," Parvati growls, her face still rather pale. Pansy Parkinson sneers at her.

"Ooh, sticking up for Longbottom? Never thought you'd like fat little crybabies, Parvati."

All of a sudden, Draco, completely ignoring the glares from the rest of the Gryffindor house, snatches something up from the grass. "Look! It's that stupid thing Longbottom's gran sent him!" It's a small orb-like thing, glittering glass in the sun.

"Oh no, Neville's Remembrall," Hermione whispers, her eyes wide with horror. I also feel a bit of panic – Remembralls are glass, and very easy to break. They say if someone breaks it, the owner will be cursed for all eternity. What if Draco breaks it?

"Give it here, Malfoy."

Harry Potter's voice is very quiet, but everyone stops talking to stare at him. He has a determined look in his green eyes, staring at the Remembrall in Draco's hand, holding onto one of the brooms. I wonder if he's going to whack Draco over the head if he doesn't give it up. If he does, I'll be right behind him.

Draco just sneers, a smug expression written on his face. "I think I'll leave it somewhere for Longbottom to find. How about up a tree?" He grabs the broomstick and is up in the air in a blink of an eyes.

"Give it here!" Harry shouts, but Draco just smirks and tosses the glass ball between his hands as he hovers over an oak tree.

"Come and get it, Potter!"

I scan the grass and spot a rock. Snatching it in my hand, I raise it to throw straight at Draco's face "You foul little toerag! Get back here!"

"No!" Hermione shouts, as I'm about to hurl the rock and Harry's about to mount his broom (in no particular order). "Madam Hooch told us not to move – you'll get us all in trouble!"

I lower my hand and miss out on the chance to be a class hero. Harry, who already has plenty of practice, mounts his broom and kicks off into the air, much to everyone's surprise. A couple of girls faint. Ron Weasley lets out a cheer. The rock falls out of my hand in my shock.

"Give it here, or I'll knock you off your broom!" Harry shouts, and Draco begins to look a little less confident. No surprise there, he doesn't have those walking walls to watch his back. There's just air and a looooooooong way down.

Harry seems to realize this too, and taunts, "No Crabbe and Goyle here to watch your back!"

Draco's face reflects something like fear, and he gives up. Tossing the Remembrall in the air, he sneers, "Catch it if you can!"

Time seems to slow down. We watch as Draco takes off towards the ground, the Remembrall glittering in the sunlight, falling in a graceful arc in midair, Harry moving faster than light towards it, diving straight towards the ground, my voice mixing in with the screams of girls around me (_"CATCH IT CATCH IT WATCH OUT HE'S GOING TO CRASH!"_) he's going to crash he's going to crash and then he manages to pull himself straight, inches from the ground, the Remembrall clutched safely in his hand.

Then time starts again.

"HARRY POTTER!" McGonagall looks madder than I've ever seen her, and that's counting when Liana marked me as a loser to the entire school. Her hands are trembling with anger as she marches across the grounds, and she looks speechless for a moment. "Never – in all my time at Hogwarts – how _dare_ you – might have broken your neck – "

"It wasn't his fault, Professor –" Parvati starts, but Professor McGonagall shushes her.

"Be quiet, Miss Patil."

"He was only –"

"Miss Progers, hold your tongue."

"But Malfoy – "

"That's _enough_, Mr. Weasley." McGonagall nearly snarls, and we all back off. Harry is staring at the ground, looking almost as white as Neville was. The Remembrall drops the grass, much like my rock, but nobody notices it. "Potter, follow me."

Harry follows Professor McGonagall up the lawn, towards the castle, and out of sight.

"I'll bet he'll be packing his bags by midnight, wouldn't you say?" Draco snickers from the back of the crowd. The Slytherins laugh the way they had been doing a few moments ago, like nothing had happened.

"Oh, shut up," Ron scowls, looking like he'd like to hit Draco, but instead only clenches his fists. Draco sneers back, obviously ready to pick another fight.

"Why? Scared you're going to lose your reputation as Harry Potter's faithful sidekick? Don't worry, if you ask McGonagall, I'm sure she'll ship you back home to your Muggle-loving family to – OWWW!"

Hermione casts a sharp glance at me as everyone stares at the mysterious rock in the grass that has somehow flung itself at Draco's head. It _couldn't_ have been me. I'm just an innocent, whistling little _Gryffindor_ girl.

* * *

><p><strong>I really suck at witty chapter endings. <strong>

**Reviews are love. Seriously. I feel like someone's cast a Cheering Charm on me everytime you click the little button. **


	7. Idiot! Idiot on the Floor!

**Wow, it's been, what, two months? Don't worry, I wasn't dead. Or at least, I don't think I was. But I was busy. Very, very busy with schoolwork, sports, and emotional drama. I also had to go through nearly all my chapters and revise, tweak some plot details here and there, fix spelling errors, and, oh yeah, changes Kate's last name. Because apparently I subconsiously named her 'Kate Walsh' after a famous actress. ASDFGHJKL! And I really liked that name too, it flowed...**

**But I'm back, and updating like crazy. You can expect another update before Monday too, since I'm free to write for the next four days.**

**Since I haven't updated in forever, this chapter is extra long. Hope ya'll can forgive me for disappearing like that.**

**Thanks to Panthera-Kaia-Lily, who was the only one to review last chapter. Guys, remember, review=love. **

**Disclaimer: I'm pretty sure I'm not J.K. Rowling. I'm not a genius, I'm not British, and I'm not as great a writer. Kate belongs to me. Rachel belongs to the wonderful Panthera-Kaia-Lily. Selene belongs to my best friend, Kagihana (who is a nun. *inside joke*)**

**Dedication: To Mickey D's. Because fries=love too.**

* * *

><p>"Kate, get your lazy bum over here!"<p>

Liana's face and comments about my 'lazy bum' isn't exactly the way I planned to spend my morning. But here she is, standing in front of the door leading to the Great Hall with her arms crossed and a determined look on her face.

"Um…" I pause to look around. None of my Gryffindor classmates are around, but neither is anyone else that can save me from this possibly dangerous first confrontation with my sister since I was Sorted. I mean, Lia isn't known as 'Lethal Liana' for nothing (read: "My sister is very kind when she's not cursing people's buttocks off. But that doesn't mean she isn't above hexing mine.")

"Can this wait?"

Liana rolls her eyes and grabs my arm, leading me out of the Entrance Hall and into the Viaduct Courtyard. There's barely anyone out here, but she still lowers her voice when she whispers, "Is it true that you threw a rock at Draco Malfoy?"

I'm sincerely surprised that she's heard about that. Most anyone talked about yesterday was how lucky Harry Potter was to not be expelled – what McGonagall decided was his punishment is yet to be known, but I didn't think anyone had even given my rock-chucking a second thought. "Where did you hear about that?"

"I have my sources," Liana replies, which means that she probably quizzed every first year to see if really had fallen off my broom until Draco told her I had tried to increase his already present brain-damage. "So is it true?"

"Er…yeah, he was being a git, so I chucked a rock at his head. Is there a problem with that?"

"Do you normally chuck rocks at people's heads?"

"Only if they're being a git."

"Draco Malfoy is _not_ a git."

"Says you."

Liana sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose impatiently. She looks at me, disappointment apparent in her green eyes. I feel a bit of shame for a second, then remember that she's been ignoring me for close to two weeks.

"How do you expect to make friends if you use such violent tactics?" She demands, placing one hand on her hip. Says the girl who sent four kids to the Hospital Wing last year when they breathed too loudly in the library while she was studying. "Draco Malfoy is a respectable person, someone that Mum and Dad would rather you hung around than…who are you hanging around, anyway?"

When she wants something, my older sister is determined and stubborn. Really, I'd much rather be in the Great Hall right now, eating breakfast (and watching the interesting things that happen at breakfast –two days ago Seamus Finnegan blew up a cup of water trying to turn it into rum) and waiting for the mail, but obviously I'm not there. Instead, I'm freezing my 'lazy bum' off being interrogated by Liana.

Why is she interrogating me?

"Did Mum put you up to this?" I ask curiously, a thousand suspicions running through my mind.

Two small pink spots appear in Liana's cheeks, and she shakes her head too quickly, her blonde hair flying. "No! Can't I check up on my little sister?" She plasters on a cheesy smile, assumes a new, friendly tone, and tucks some stray hair behind my ear. "So, have you made any friends?"

I frown, and back away, leaning against one of the walls of the courtyard and looking out towards the lake. I haven't explored every inch of the castle yet (I'm only in my second week of term anyway) and I haven't been out onto the grounds at all, save for the disastrous flying lesson. But today even the lake looks inviting, birds flying across its inky depths and the wind ruffling the trees around it.

"Hermione Granger," I say without thinking, immediately regretting it when I see Liana's face fall.

"You're talking about that Mudblood know-it-all?" She practically spits, disgust written across her face. "You're kidding me, right Kate? Don't tell me you've been hanging around Mudbloods, you can do better than that! You were raised better than that!"

"I was raised the same way you were, weren't I?" I shoot back, my face burning as my sister chastises me. "But I was put in Gryffindor! How do you explain that, huh?"

Liana goes silent, thinking it over, before letting out another impatient sigh.

"Who else?" She asks, almost afraid of my answer. I swallow and think, trying to come up with something that won't get me another Howler.

"Um…Neville Longbottom?" I think he's a pureblood, and I did alert him when he was on fire the other day, but obviously it's another wrong answer, as her eyes widen in shock.

"Longbottom? _Longbottom_? Are you insane? He's worse than the Mudblood!"

"He's a pureblood," I point out, wondering what has gotten into my sister. Neville may be a few napkins short of a picnic, but he's an okay guy.

"He's basically a Squib," She scowls, glaring down at me. "No magical talent at all. Can't remember a spell to save his life. Besides, he and the Mudblood are troublemakers anyway. I caught them wandering around with Potter and that Weazelby or something last night."

This is news to me. True, Hermione was late coming back to the dormitory last night, but I figured she was pulling an all-night study session or something. Not all that important. But what why would she be wandering around the castle in the middle of the night, considering the fact breaking a rule is one of the seven deadly sins, in her book?

"You caught them?"

"Nearly," Liana scowls. "But they got away before I could find Filch. But really, you don't want to hang around that kind of riffraff. Anything else?"

How many friends does she expect me to have? I'm not exactly the most outgoing person, in case you haven't noticed. "Uh…Rachel Zytera?" I shrug, thinking of the third-year girl from the other night. "She's a pureblood. Her father owns Zytera Candy & Jokes."

Liana raises an eyebrow. "_The_ Zytera Candy & Jokes? You serious?"

"Yes, I'm serious." I reply, getting slightly annoyed. First she insults my choice of companions, and now she doesn't believe me when I come up with a slightly acceptable choice. There's no pleasing her, is there? "Now can I please go back inside? It's freezing out here!"

Liana shakes her head. "No. I'm writing a letter to Mum about exactly what you have been up to. She'll put a stop to this. It's for your own good."

She starts to walk away, swishing her cloak behind her (Liana's always been rather dramatic, as am I) but I am fuming inside. Who does she think she is, deciding who I'm allowed to have as friends? I quickly run after her.

"No, you won't," I nearly shout, anger laced in my voice. "If you send an owl to Mum, I will tell her about how you and Adam Kerrington were snogging in the Charms classroom last week!"

Her face goes ghostly white at the mention of her and the other Slytherin prefect. Her hands start to tremble, and her green eyes flicker with something like fear for a moment.

"You wouldn't," She whispers, and I mentally congratulate myself for my luck – I know she fancies him, but I didn't know she was with him already. My older sister works fast, I guess. "You saw that?"

"I don't think Father will appreciate that you're snogging boys in empty classrooms, even if they are Slytherin," I reply as coolly as possible, enjoying the fact that for once, I have the upper hand. "You'd better pray that he's a pureblood, Lia."

She glares at me with so much venom that my first instinct is to back off and apologize. But I suppose being around Gryffindors has hardened my resolve. At least, I don't flinch when her voice drops to a frosty tone. "Are you blackmailing me, little sister?"

I gulp, starting to shake in my shoes. I keep one eye on her wand hand, just in case she decides to hex my mouth shut or wipe my memories or something.

Suddenly, Liana's face breaks out into a grin, and she lets our something like a giggle. "You're learning, Kate! There's hope for you after all!"

She pulls me into a crushing hug, completely unexpected. When she lets me go, I immediately check my pockets discreetly to make sure my wand is still there (wouldn't be the first time she used affection to try and steal something from me). Liana is beaming at me like I'm the best person in the world, before skipping (yes, actual _skippage_) towards the Great Hall for breakfast.

I stare after her, bewildered.

And people say I'm the weird one.

* * *

><p>"What's she doing here?"<p>

I glare at Fred and George Weasley, considering chucking the school broom (first-years aren't allowed their own broomsticks, which is such a shame) at their heads. But that really wouldn't help my non-violence reputation, and it would be almost impossible to hit both of them, so I decide against it.

"I'm trying out for the Gryffindor Quidditch team," I reply matter-of-factly with as much civility as possible. Today is Friday, the second week of term, and that means Quidditch trials. Technically, first years aren't allowed their own broomsticks, and rarely get on teams. But that doesn't mean they can't try out, can they? And I've heard Harry Potter, as punishment (_punishment?_) for stopping Draco with the Remembrall was made the Seeker of the team, so if he can be on the team, so can I, right?

Unfortunately, I'm the only first-year that thinks this way, apparently, and the rest of the team-hopefuls are giving me doubting looks. A broad-shouldered fifth year, apparently the team captain, takes one look and gives me a flat-out, "No."

"No?" I shout. "What do you mean, 'no'?"

"Try out next year, okay?" The team captain waves an airy hand, about to mount his broom. "For now, we've got all the Chasers we need. Rachel, Angelina, Katie, and Alicia as a reserve." He points to each girl as he says their name, three third-years and one second-year.

I scowl, crossing my arms, trying to hide my bitter disappointment. I've been dreaming about joining the school Quidditch team ever since I was six. Liana's never been on a Quidditch team – in fact, she hates the sport, but that's another story – and I've been looking forward to doing something she hasn't.

"Oh, come on Wood, let's at least see what she can do," One of the third-years, a pretty looking black girl with braids, shrugs. "Maybe we can make her a reserve if she's good."

"Well…" Wood looks hesitant. Rachel Zytera nods as well.

"Yeah, we could always use some new blood on the team. Let's see how she flies."

"Straight into a tree," Fred Weasley whispers to his twin. I shoot him a glare, which only earns me an infuriating smirk before Wood finally sighs, "Okay, fine. Let's see what you can do."

I smile at Rachel, who winks at me, and mount my broom. Please, please, please don't fall off… I beg, concentrating on holding on tight as I kick off the ground, and the next thing I know, I'm flying.

I soar up to about a hundred feet in the air, grinning. I feel weightless, completely free. So far, so good. I'm actually doing really good, actually. Maybe I can do this…

I lean forward a little, urging the broom to go faster. It's reluctant. Liana told me school brooms usually have slight malfunctions, and this old Shooting Star is very slow. Too slow, and I grit my teeth, willing it to go faster, until finally it gives in, shooting so fast my eyes begin to tear up from the cold wind in my face.

In fact, I'm going so fast I can't see the…

"WATCH OUT FOR THAT-"

CRASH!

"…tree."

* * *

><p>"You're lucky, you only got a broken nose," Rachel comments as I sit up in the Hospital Wing, holding a cloth to my bleeding nose.<p>

"Yes, I'b doe lucky." I mutter, breathing through my mouth as Madam Pomfrey shuffles around the many beds lining the very white, very clean room. She mutters things under her breath like, "Quidditch trials", and "What were they thinking, letting a first-year try out!"

"Hold still, dear," She says, pointing her wand at my nose. "_Episkey_." My nose feels rather numb and hot, but when I pull the cloth away, I find its fixed, as if it had never been broken at all.

"Thanks," I say, finally speaking normally. "Can I go to class now?"

Madam Pomfrey clucks impatiently. "Very well, but be careful on that nose, it's still tender. And try not to sneeze."

Rachel leads me out of the Hospital Wing, before stopping outside the History of Magic classroom and asking me where my next class is.

I blink. "Defense Against the Dark Arts, but I'll get there alright. Thanks for taking me to the Hospital Wing."

"No problem," Rachel replies nonchalantly. "Just wanted to make sure you were okay. You hit that tree pretty hard. Sure there's no brain damage?"

I giggle despite myself. "Yep. No more than I already had, anyway." I glance out a nearby window, where I can still see the Quidditch pitch, and feel my heart sink. "Guess my Quidditch career is over."

"Cheer up, I'm sure you can get better over time," Rachel shrugs, heading towards the Grand Staircase. "Besides, Quidditch isn't everything. There's a lot to do around here without having to fly."

"I suppose," I mutter, watching as she walks away before turning back to the window and watch Harry Potter and Oliver Wood toss golf balls back and forth. Wonder if something interesting will ever happen to me without crashing into a tree.

* * *

><p>Time passes. We learn the basics in almost every subject, and begin on the real magic. I avoid Liana as much as possible, trying to salvage whatever's left of my reputation and turn it into something less pure-blood perfect and more likeable. You could say it works, sort of. I'm nobody's best friend, but I'm nobody's enemy either.<p>

Meanwhile, I'm exploring the castle as much as I possibly can. So far I've found three secret passageways in two months. None of them lead out of the castle, but it ensures that I always get to class on time, if not early. It's kind of fun, knocking on door to see it they'll talk or tapping statues with my wand and muttering nonsense words.

On Halloween morning, I wake up before my roommates and head out of the common room, determined to check out a possible new passageway near the Entrance Hall, behind the portrait of Elizabeth Burke. I've seen older students disappear behind her portrait, but I have no clue where it leads to or what the password is.

"Excuse me?" I ask as politely as I can to the snoring red-haired woman in the painting. The Entrance Hall is rather empty, as mostly everyone is sleeping in. "Could you possibly tell me the password for the passageway you guard?"

Ms. Burke wakes with a grunt, and glares at me. "You nasty little girl, couldn't you see I was sleeping? Honestly, children should be seen and not heard!"

I take a step back. Luckily, portraits can't curse, but there's something about the woman that reminds me of my aunt Regina, who was always quick to remind me that a lady of breeding ought never to raise her voice any louder "than the gentle hum of a whisper in the wind." Rawr.

"_Facta, non verba._" A voice from behind me states, and the portrait grumbles before swinging open to reveal a narrow staircase going up.

I turn around to face a Ravenclaw first-year with wavy black hair and glasses almost too big for her head – indeed, they fall off as I oh-so-gracefully knock into her, causing both of us to fall to the ground.

"Oh!" I exclaim, quickly snatching up the glasses and holding them up to her face, unfortunately only succeeding in poking her in the eye. "I'm so sorry! Quick, how many fingers am I holding up?" I hold up a random amount of fingers.

The girl frowns, her eye watering. "Three."

"Oh, really?" I quickly check my hand to count that there really are three before standing up. "Gee, I'm really sorry about your glasses."

The girl stands up as well, waving an airy hand. "It's fine. I don't really need them, they're supposed to make me look more intelligent." There is a faint yet recognizable Irish lilt in her tone that makes everything she says sound rather pleasant. "What's your name?"

"Er…Kate Progers." Funny, I had to think about that. Usually whenever I introduce myself, I have to say, 'I am Katelyn Progers, pureblood.' Being independent is new and weird to me. "What's yours?"

"Selene," The girl replies, holding out her hand. "Selene Carmical. I'm in Ravenclaw, and based on your tie, you're in Gryffindor, right?" It doesn't sound much like a question, more like restating a fact. "You're that girl who wanted a reSort, right?"

"Um…right," I really hope my poker face is working and I'm not the hue of a tomato. "Actually, that was my sister, I'm perfectly fine being a Gryffindor. And um, you were, uh…" I try to think back to the Sorting, but can't recall anything that stands about her.

"Oh, I was Sorted very fast," Selene comments off-handedly. "The Sorting Hat seemed sure I would be in Ravenclaw. I suppose it's because my grandmother was in that house. My father was in Hufflepuff, though, so my chance of being in that house was about 46%."

She apparently calculates percentages. Okay. Not weird at all.

"What house was your mother in?" I ask curiously, and notice the way Selene's face seems to fall at that comment.

"She…she's a Muggle. I haven't talked to her in six years. She left when I was five."

"Oh…" So Selene's a half-blood. It feels horrible that that's the first thought that reaches my mind, when Selene's obviously upset about her mother. "I'm sorry."

Selene shrugs, obviously not willing to divulge more of the story.

Elizabeth Burke is getting impatient. "Are you two going to make me hang open all day?" She snaps, and I turn back to the passageway, which looks rather dusty and depressing, especially with the smell of breakfast wafting in from the Great Hall.

"Facta, non verba, right?" I ask Selene, slamming the portrait, causing Ms. Burke to stumble out of her portrait, swearing loudly. "What's that mean?"

"Deeds, not words," Selene replies, heading towards the staircase. "And older student told me. It's _Latin_," She adds slowly, seeing my confused expression. "It's sort of my motto, actually. Actions speak louder than words do, you know."

I nod, not exactly understanding but not wanting to appear ignorant. "Oh…yeah, I totally get that," I say, not getting it at all. Selene, however, beams, obviously thinking she has found a kindred spirit.

"And of course, there's the whole idea of body language in comparison to what you actually say. You do know that body language makes up 70% of what you say rather than the actual words?"

I blink. What? She is speaking English, right?

Selene watches me closely, as though expecting an answer to a question she did ask. Slightly disappointed, she folds her arms over her chest before pointing at a bit of parchment sticking out of my pocket. "What's that?"

I pull it out of my pocket, wondering the same thing. Must have put it in my pocket last night without thinking. When I unfold it, I find it's a sketch I drew a few weeks ago, after my disappointing Quidditch try-out. It's a picture of me on a broom, soaring high above the Quidditch stadium, probably how I looked before I fell off – er, crashed into a tree (I do that previous quite a bit too, though).

Selene holds it in her hands, examining it closely. "Wow, you're really good," she remarks, pointing at certain details, like the shading of the trees or the movement of my hair. "Of course, you could use some improvement," she adds.

I scowl at this comment, grabbing the parchment out of her hands and heading towards the Great Hall. Who's she to judge, huh? I'm really getting sick of people judging me for who I am. Wish they'd all just leave me alon –

"Hey, Kate!"

I turn around for a second. Selene is rushing to catch up with me as I put one hand on the door to the Great Hall, pulling something out of her pocket. It's a small Muggle notepad, with half the pages filled up. She stops in front of me and hands it to me.

"Here," she says, flipping to a page. "I write poetry, and I was wondering if you could read a bit of it," She's talking very fast now, her face flushed and exited. "And, you know, if you like some of them, maybe you could draw a few? Please?"

I stare for a second at her, before glancing down at a few of the poems. They're very good, actually, and some of them do inspire pictures in my mind. I particularly love this one:

_My heart soaring_

_The lights of the sky _

_My only destination_

_And yet forever I fly_

Slowly, I nod, trying to keep a cool face. "Yeah, I'll take a look at them. Have you shown anyone else? They're really great."

Selene beams at my compliment. "Nope, haven't shown a single soul. Not even my father. It's my secret project, you see." She lowers her voice to a whisper as students begin making their descent down the stairs and past us, looking for breakfast. "I was afraid that they would be, you know, rubbish. But I'm glad you don't think they are."

I smile back, putting the notepad in my pocket to read later. "No, definitely not. You have real talent."

"Really?" She's positively grinning now, and other students are giving us weird looks as they pass, but Selene pays no attention. "Oh, that's so nice of you to say! Really!" Before I can say anything, she hooks her arm through mine. "I'm so glad to have a friend like you."

I stutter a bit, "W-Wait, what?" but maybe I'm so caught up in the idea of making another friend that I don't protest. My friend list has just moved up to four, a new record for me.

As we walk into the Grand Hall, I can't help but keep a grin off my face as well.

* * *

><p>"Today we will be using the flying charm!" Professor Flitwick squeaks on that same morning, standing on his top of books to see everyone like usual. "Now, don't forget that nice wrist movement we've been practicing! Swish and flick, remember, swish and flick. And saying the magic words properly is very important too – never forget Wizard Barrufio, who said 's' instead of 'f' and found himself on the floor with a buffalo on his chest."<p>

Is that _supposed_ to be encouraging?

Soon, the Charms classroom fills with shouts of, "Wingardium Leviosa!" and plenty of wand waving, but none of our feathers float up towards the ceiling the way it should be.

"Wingardia, no, sorry, Wingardium Leviasa, whoops, Wingardia, Wingardia…" I stumble over the words, excitement getting the better of me. After all, this _is _the first time we get to try making objects fly, and today _is_ Halloween. So excuse me if I'm a little overexcited.

Lavender Brown, my partner for this current assignment, sighs and leans her chin in her hand.

"It's hopeless, none of us are going to get it right!" She declares. At that moment, Ron Weasley and Hermione are having an intense argument – excuse me, _discussion_.

"Stop, stop, You're going to take someone's eye out," Hermione says impatiently, watching as Ron waves his arms around like me when I'm trying to smack a fly. "And you're saying it wrong, it's Wing-gar-dium Levi-_o_-sa, not Levi-o-_sar_, and make the 'gar' nice and long."

"You do it then, if you're so clever," Ron grumbles angrily, putting down his wand and glaring at her. "Go on, then."

By now, half the class is staring at them, and Hermione rolls her eyes as she flicks her wand. "Wingardium Leviosa!" Just Professor Flitwick had stated, her feather begins to rise up towards the ceiling, out of reach, directed only by her wand.

"Oh, well done!" The small teacher exclaims. "Everyone see here, Miss Granger has done it!"

Ron is looking incredulous. Hermione looks smug. I am rather impressed, until a loud explosion from one corner of the room catches everyone's attention.

"Er…Professor?" Harry Potter calls, sitting next to Seamus Finnegan, whose face is covered in soot and staring at his terribly burned feather. "I think we're going to need another feather."

* * *

><p>"That was really good," I say as class is dismissed and we grab our books to head to our next lesson. There is a hint of jealousy in my tone I hope she doesn't hear. Wish I could have done that. I mean, the girl comes from Muggle parents who don't know a thing about magic, and she can do it better than me, and I have lived my entire life in the magical world.<p>

"It was a very simple spell," Hermione shrugs, but she cannot stop a small smile from crossing her face as we walk across the stone bridge towards Transfiguration. As we walk, we come closer to a knot of boys from our class, where Ron Weasley is telling an apparently amusing story.

"It's Levi-_o_-sa, not Levi-o-_sar_," he drawls dramatically while all the other boys laugh. "Honestly, she's a nightmare, no wonder no one but that Slytherin prat can stand her."

I glance over at Hermione, whose face has changed dramatically. She bites her lower lip and starts walking even faster, being sure to knock into Harry Potter as she passes the boys.

Harry watches her retreating figure, rather embarrassedly. "I think she heard you."

"Of course she heard you," I snap angrily, running to catch up with the group, glaring at Ron. They stop in their tracks as I face Weasley, rage boiling in my veins. "_You're _the prat, Ronald Weasley, not me!"

"Oh yeah?" Ron's face turns near the same color as his hair, matching my furious gaze. "Who asked you to butt in anyway?"

I clench my fists, opening my mouth to speak but no words come out. I'm so angry I'm choking on my own fury. Finally, I lower my eyes to the ground, swallowing painfully.

"Just because you're incapable of performing adequate magic, Weasley, doesn't mean you should take out your immaturity on those better than you," I say in a steady voice, turning around before I change my mind and decide to deck the rodent. The weasel looks on, half-shocked and half-furious. I can hear as he attempts to think of a clever comeback, but, obviously thinking it's not worth it, stalks away, followed by the other boys.

What. A. Loser.

_See, Lia? I can keep my anger in check._

* * *

><p>"Hey, Kate, you seen Hermione?" Parvati Patil asks me later as we head to the Great Hall for the Halloween Feast. Hermione hasn't been seen all afternoon, missing all of the classes, which is definitely a first for her.<p>

"I heard she's been in the first-floor girls' lavatory, crying," Lavender adds, walking besides Parvati. "It's really horrible, isn't it?"

I nod, glancing around to see who can hear me. When I catch sight of Potter and Weasley (really, can you find one without the other?) I add in a very loud voice, "Yes, she's been feeling miserable all afternoon. I feel really bad for her. Can you imagine how sad that must be, being bullied that much?"

Weasley's face turns pale, muttering something under his breath, but Potter looks rather worried. Maybe they do care after all.

I turn to Lavender. "Hey, how much time do we have until the feast begins?" I ask. Lavender looks at her watch. A fascinating watch, that is. I mean, instead of planets moving on the outside, there are numbers and they remain stationary the entire time. And there's only _three_ hands. It's bloody weird. Fascinating, but weird.

"Um…about ten minutes. Why?" She asks, but I'm already heading back up the stairs to the first floor.

* * *

><p>"Hermione? Hermione, please come out of there!"<p>

No answer. I knock on the door harder.

"Please? Come on, the Halloween Feast won't be as fun without you!"

Sniff, sniff.

"I need someone to tell me about the history of pumpkins!"

"Used to send away witches on All Saints Day. Please go away." Her voice cracks at the end of the sentence (a rather ironic sentence, considering the fact that the Great Hall is full of jack-o'-lanterns at the moment).

"Don't listen to what that Weasley toad said! He's just a dragon dung-licking git, he is."

"Excuse me?"

I turn around, scowling at the Weasley twins again, who are looking rather amused.

"I hope you aren't talking about us," One of them says in mock-sternness. Phoenix feathers, I can never figure out which is which.

"Mind your own business, George," I guess, trying to scowl as best as I can under the circumstances. The twin that spoke grins.

"I'm Fred."

"Oh, shut up and leave me alone!" I glower at the both of them before turning to the door again. "Hermione, open up!"

"Leave me alone!" She cries, voice half-muffled.

"But I have to _go_!"

"Then leave!"

"No, I mean…" I trail off, suddenly turning the hue of a tomato as the Weasley twins snicker. "Seriously, come on, we all know Ronald's a…a…"

"A boggart-baiting-"

"Quaffle-dropping-"

"– stubborn little git?" The twins add at the same time. I stare for a second, wondering if they have to practice that or it just comes naturally. Either way, it's still pretty cool, and I find myself envious for the second time today.

I shake off that thought and turn back towards the door. "Yeah, what they said, kind of. Only what I had in mind had more words that shouldn't be used around teachers –"

"Wh-what a-are you three d-doing away fr-from the f-f-feast?" A new, stuttering voice comes from down the corridor. I step away from the door to face Professor Quirrell, looking very lost and terrified. More than he usually does, anyway.

"Oh! Professor, I, uh…" I put my hand behind my back, trying to think of an excuse. Why would I be out here anyway, except to help my friend? But this is a private matter – I don't want to get a teacher involved. Hermione would be very embarrassed, plus I _may_ have planned a few unexpected surprises for Weasley once we get back to the common room. Surprises that may or may not get me in detention.

(Hey, I'm a Progers. Viciousness runs in my family. Can't help it if I have particularly wicked genes.)

Before I can think of an adequate excuse, Fred (or is it George?) steps forward. "Sorry Professor, we were just showing Kate a new passageway. You know, since she's always late," he adds, and I mentally roll my eyes. Always late, what a load of boggart-bull.

Professor Quirrell, however, seems to believe this outright lie, and nods, his turban looking like it's going to fall off. He really does look quite frazzled, actually. More nervous than usual. I suppose it's because it's Halloween, and he's sort of what I always considered a Hallo-weenie.

"W-Well, as ad-admirable as that m-might b-be, I s-suggest you all g-get up the feast, yes?" He finally manages to say (well, stutter), moving out of our way so we can walk down the stairs to the Great Hall.

I exchange looks with the twins before moving towards the door to the first-floor corridor, casting one last glum look at the bathroom door. Poor Hermione. Missing her first Halloween feast because of some stupid comment made by an idiotic boy.

"Aren't you coming, Professor?" George (unless it's Fred) asks Quirrell, looking over his shoulder at the tense teacher standing in the middle of the hall.

Quirrell flinches, despite George's tone being conversational and not at all reprimanding. "What? O-Oh, oh no, I-I have business t-to attend t-to. I'll j-join the f-festivities l-later," he smiles sheepishly, and waves us off. "G-go h-have fun."

And with that, he practically shoves us out of the corridor and onto the staircase landing, closing the door behind us.

"I must be going mental," I remark to myself after a few moments of silence. "I was actually able to understand half of what he said."

This makes the twins smirk, and I remember that I'm not the only one out of the Great Hall. I turn to them, one hand on my hip, blocking the way down the stairs, even though I'm pretty sure one of them could knock me down the stairs with one hand. "And speaking of which, what were you _doing_ up there?"

"Could ask the same for you," One of them replies, exchanging a look with his twin. It's painfully obvious – _should we tell her? Can we trust her?_ _Should we just push her down the stairs and pretend like this never happened?_

On second thought, maybe I shouldn't be standing so close to the edge. I back away a bit, leaning against the banister. "I was providing moral support for a friend," I say in the most confident voice I can muster. "However, I have a feeling what you were going was slightly less ethical." _And illegal._

The twins exchange looks one more time, before coming to a silent agreement. "We were planting a Dungbomb for Filch," One of them finally says, deciding honesty would be the best approach. "To get back at him for giving us detention last Wednesday. And if you tell anyone, I swear –"

"I won't."

The words are out of my mouth before I can stop them, and yet, they are true. I won't tell Filch or a teacher. Because, thinking about it, I wouldn't like it if I told someone a secret only to be snitched on. I don't want to be a little goody-two-shoes.

I want people to _like_ me. Me, who comes from a family of some of the snarkiest Slytherins ever (save for the Malfoys).

So it's true, then, when I say, "I won't tell a soul," because I won't. I'm so happy, actually, that they think I'm someone worth trusting after all the things I've said.

That, and Filch made me clean the trophy room last Friday for attempting to get into the third-floor corridor. (You know, the 'forbidden' one which happens to look precisely like the corrdior to Transfiguration. Hmph.)

The twins look slightly surprised, before breaking out into identical grins. "Great," they say at the same time.

"See, Fred, told you she wouldn't be such a stick-in-the-mud." George says as we head towards the Great Hall and slip into our seats just as the feast begins. The Great Hall looks spectacular, with pumpkins floating over our heads and bats swooping in every now and then. The ceiling reflects a stormy night outside – perfect for Halloween.

"A stick-in-the-mud?" I frown, sitting down next to Lavender Brown, who is preoccupied with a pork chop. "That's so nice." I mutter sarcastically as I reach for my goblet of pumpkin juice.

"Well, now we know better," Fred shrugs, helping himself to some steak and kidney pie. "Besides, if it makes you feel any better, I'll tell you about the Skele-Gro we put in your pumpkin juice."

This last comment causes me to unceremoniously spit out the said juice, right into the face of Neville Longbottom, who looks too shocked to be angry. Indeed, even as the entire table begins to laugh, he still wears a surprised look, juice dripping off his face.

"S-Sorry Neville," I apologize, standing up and handing him a few napkins. Neville mutters an "its okay," before giving a small, nervous smile. It _was_ kind of funny.

"We were joking, by the way," George says as I sit back down. "We don't have any Skele-Gro."

"And if we did, we wouldn't use it on you," Fred adds casually. "No, we'd set our sights on even bigger targets." This is followed by a pointed glance at Professor Snape.

I allow myself a tiny smirk, even though Snape doesn't really deserve it. No one does. I've heard Skele-Gro is one of the most foul-tasting potions in the history of forever. But I'm still bitter about the non-consideration of my house transfer, I'm willing to agree, even if it isn't right.

The feast goes on, and I'm actually enjoying myself. The Weasley twins are quite popular in Gryffindor, and being on their good terms puts me on good terms with most my house. I'm joking and laughing and talking and overall having a good-time. I even forget how Hermione must be feeling, alone and miserable in the girls' first-floor lavatory.

Just as Neville is telling the story of the time his grandfather played a trick on his grandmother by putting a fanged gerbil in her handbag, the doors to the Great Hall burst open, and in runs a rather pale-looking Professor Quirrell – or at least, more pale than he usually looks.

For once, Quirrell isn't stuttering. In fact, he's screaming at the top of his lungs, looking utterly terrified. His turban is flying behind him, perched on his head at an odd angle. It's hard to understand what he's saying, until he's yelling it for the second time.

"TROLL! TROLL, IN THE DUNGEONS!"

Everyone looks up from their dinner, shell-shocked. Professor Quirrell stops right in front of Professor Dumbledore, eyes wild and terrified, before whispering, "Thought you ought to know."

He then proceeds to fall to the floor in a dead faint, sprawled out in the middle of the aisle.

A troll.

In the dungeon.

On Halloween night.

…Gee, Professor, anything else you forgot to tell us?

* * *

><p><strong>Thank you so much for putting up with my long absences! <strong>

**Please don't favorite without reviewing! Even if it is to say my story sucks, some feedback is better than none! Thanks!**

**Mischief Managed!**


	8. Say Hello to Our VBF!

**I learned a new word on Wednesday. It's 'girl', only it's pronnounced, 'guuuuuuuuurl.' Seriously. A girl on my soccer team said it like that, and I was all like, "OH MY GOD THAT IS SO AWESOME SAY IT AGAIN!" So yeah. I've been practicing saying that instead of writing.**

**And I've had writer's block, a very serious, career-threatening disease. However, thanks to the Harry Potter Fanfiction Challenge Forum and an incredibly awesome challenge from JPLE (the "As Life Flashes Before Your Eyes" Competition) I am back! **

**Disclaimer: ...Rawr.**

**Dedication: To Kagi because I am a HORRIBLE friend and I forgot to wish her happy birthday because I was high on chocolate on the first day of vacation. So here you go. Please forgive me. PLEASE!**

**Thanks to Panthera-Kaia-Lily (who owns Rachel, who I used again in this chapter because she is awesome and fun to write), yvonna, PeaceLoveSiriusBlack, Kagi, katchile94, Harry Potter rocks 2143 (sis, you can just tell me you like it. Or make up a better username.), and geekyxchild for reviewing last chapter! And now I will shut up and let you read.**

* * *

><p><em>Recap: "TROLL! TROLL IN THE DUNGEON! Thought you ought to know."<em>

_...Gee Professor, anything else you'd like to tell us?_

* * *

><p>Needless to say, this sort of announcement ("Oh, by the way, there's a troll in the dungeons, please pass the peas.") causes a great deal of astonishment. Before five seconds have passed, people are screaming and running for the door, pushing one another out of the way. It's everyone for themselves, and I find myself being knocked aside and landing face-first in a bowl of pudding.<p>

See, this is where being small does _not_ come in handy.

"SILENCE!"

Everyone stops, and I wipe the pudding out of my eyes to see Professor Dumbledore standing at the front of the room, looking very calm considering the situation we are in. He looks over at the teachers, who are also standing and pulling out their wands, looking pointedly at the door.

"Prefects, please lead your houses to their dormitories immediately! The teachers will follow me to the dungeons!"

I look over to my left, where Percy Weasley looking very pleased considering the possible life-threatening oh-my-god-a-troll-is-coming-to-eat-our-faces situation we are in. I quickly stand up, trip over Professor Quirrel's lifeless body like everyone else, and follow the leader.

"Follow me! Stick together, first years! Stay close behind me, now. Make way, first years coming through! Excuse me, I'm a prefect! No need to fear the troll if you follow my orders!"

"Yeah, no need to be afraid." I hear one of the Weasley twins shout above the din. "If push comes to shove, Prefect Percy here could always bore the troll to death."

"I heard that!"

I scan the crowd of panicking students, seeing the teachers head out a side door that leads down to the dungeons. Two, four, six, eight, nine, one's missing. "Oh, that's just lovely, I suppose the troll's already eaten one," I mutter under my breath.

"Actually, trolls are generally unintelligent, and would be certainly outmatched by Professor Snape, even if the troll did use brute strength. Oh, and you have pudding in your hair, by the way."

I turn around to face Selene Carmical, who is looking a little disturbed at the theoretical bombshell Professor Quirrel dropped on us. However, she smirks slightly as I grimace and push my sopping hair out of my face.

"How'd you know it was Snape?" I ask in an attempt to change the subject as we race down the corridor following the group of students in front of us. Neither of us notice that this is not the way to either of our common rooms. In fact, we seem to be going downward, beneath the Great Hall and closer to the dungeons.

Selene shrugs. "Logical guess. Only one was missing, and Professor Snape's spot was the only place that still had food left on the plate. The other teachers had Vanished theirs before heading off towards the dungeons. Probably to make clean-up easier."

The students around us chatter nervously as we reach a long corridor, the walls covered with still-life paintings of food. The group of students all head to a stack of barrels in a small corner on the right.

Selene suddenly looks over at me. "Wait a second, you're not in my house."

"This isn't my common room."

"It isn't mine either."

Phoenix feathers. We followed the wrong group of students.

My theory is confirmed when I see out of the corner of my eye a Hufflepuff seventh-year striding towards us, glaring at us as though we are unwelcome intruders – which we are.

"You two are not in Hufflepuff." _Why, thank you, Captain Obvious. I had no idea._ "You need to leave. Now."

Selene opens her mouth to protest. With a troll on the loose? Is he nuts? But I'm curious as to what exactly Snape is up to, and head back down the corridor without complaint, pulling her along with me.

"What the – where are we going – are you crazy?" She squeaks, suddenly turning as pale as a sheet. "There's a troll out there! We would have been better staying there where there are older students and…and…and teachers and – "

"Oh please, you heard Quirrel. The troll is in the dungeon, in case you haven't heard," I reply, rolling my eyes. "We're safer up here. Plus, we need to get back to our common rooms. I really wouldn't like to have to run for my life and lose twenty points from my house all in one night, thank you very much."

"We wouldn't be in this mess if you had just paid attention in the first place!"

"Hey, I missed out on the common sense gene, that's why I'm in Gryffindor. What's your excuse?"

Selene crosses her arms and frowns just as we reach the Grand Staircase, opening her mouth to snap at me, when we hear a huge scream from an upper floor. She turns that sickly white color again, barely managing to whisper, "What's going on up there?"

I tilt my head up at the empty stairs, still moving even without anyone using them. "Dunno. Let's go check it out."

"What?"

Ignoring Selene's question, I start up the stairs, careful to hold onto the hand railing so I don't fall off (although I'm pretty sure that some sort of Charm would cause me from spilling my brains out all over the floor, but I like my head intact). Selene follows me, firing question after question.

"I'm sorry, but did you just say let's go _find_ that thing that had caused the scream of death? That's like some beauty queen in a horror movie going, 'Oh, I'm going to get a torch, be right back,' only guess what? She's DOESN'T! So tell me, why should we go after something that could potentially kill us? I like my life, thank you very much, and I'm going to bed right n – "

Grateful for the end of the nagging and wondering what exactly is a horror movie, I stop at the fourth floor landing and turn around to face her. "Are you done?"

She doesn't answer, just stares, wide-eyed and shocked over at the door that leads the third floor corridor, hanging wide open with blood leaving a thick trail across the floor.

You know, that third-floor corridor that Professor Dumbledore told us not to go down for fear of a very painful death.

Yeah, that one.

Welcome to Hogwarts, the safest magical school in the world.

* * *

><p>"Remind me again why we aren't going straight to bed and pretending this entire night has been a really bad nightmare? 'Cause that's what I'd really like to do right now."<p>

"Wuss. We've got to tell the teachers that somebody's either dead or hurt. Personally, I'm hoping for dead."

"KATE!"

"What?"

"That's horrible!"

"Well, I'm just saying, whoever was in there lost a lot of blood. I could imagine some probably lost a few limbs, maybe an ear, probably got a few bits of flesh ripped off down to the bone as well…"

"Ew, okay, thanks a lot for that image."

"It's kinder if there's a dead body to find than for a bunch of eleven-year olds to find someone looking like that on the way to Transfiguration." I shrug, trying to act nonchalant about the murder we may or may not have witnessed. Maybe this is all just some sort of Halloween hoax, like a 'gotcha, losers' moment or something.

Selene, meanwhile is obviously shaken, and can't keep her hands from trembling. She's taken her glasses on and off fifteen times in the last ten minutes and won't turn corners unless I look behind them first. I keep telling her the troll was probably taken down by the teachers, but she still won't listen.

"Oh great, now we're lost," She mutters when we find ourselves in another dead end. I scowl in annoyance. It's probably past curfew, there's either a dead body or some kind of half-dead victim prowling around the castle, and I've got to pee real bad. I'm _so_ not in the mood to get lost of all things, especially considering the fact that I've been exploring the castle for the last two months.

"Why can't there be a bloody map?" I shout, opening a random door to my left and peering inside. Good news: It's a loo. Bad news: It looks like a bomb blew up in there.

"Whoa…" I mutter as I step over bits of splintered wood and avoid puddles of suspicious liquid. "What happened in here?"

Behind me, Selene groans as she steps in a puddle of that suspicious liquid. "Gross, it's all sticky! It smells like a sewer backed up in here!"

"Gee, that's odd, considering we're in a bathroom," I reply drily, trying to maneuver through the wreckage. Selene scowls at me, crossing her arms over her chest.

"I don't mean it like that, and besides, I said _like_ a sewer. If you want specifics, it smells like my dog after eating two plates of bacon and one of my dad's socks."

Okay, information I did not really need to know, but I'll take her word for it.

Something catches my eye (ooh! Shiny! Mine!). Taking a step forward, I squint my eyes to make out another suspicious liquid, only much more recognizable.

"Looks like our VBF has been here." Seeing Selene's questionable look, I add, "Our Very Bloody Friend."

"Well, with the loss of that much blood, he can't have gone very far," She murmurs, heading towards the sinks where half of them lie in a wreckage, as thought someone had torn them straight off the wall.

Let's see. Ruined bathroom plus disgusting smell plus the presence of our VBF plus the fact that there was a 'TROLL! TROLL IN THE DUNGEONS!' adds up to…

"Oh. My. God." I say, adding it up in my head. I recognize this bathroom. I was in it earlier this night. "Hermione was in here. And then the troll somehow got out of the dungeon and attacked her."

I look over at Selene, who looks confused. "And she somehow got away, trying to get back to the common room, only took a wrong turn into the corridor and…and…"

I think back to earlier, the last time I had seen Hermione alive. I had been trying to convince her to join the feast because of that stupid Weasley's big mouth.

"This is my fault," I whisper, sitting down on top of what used to be a stall and now more resembles my old dollhouse after one of Liana's friends used it for Bludger practice. "If only I had been able to convince her to come to the feast, she wouldn't be…"

"What are you two doing here?"

Selene and I look up into the very furious face of the previously-missing Professor Snape. He snaps, "Students were supposed to have been taken to their common rooms earlier. Explain!"

"We followed the wrong group, sir," Selene explains, twisting her hands anxiously. "We went down with the Hufflepuffs and tried to go back and got lost."

Professor Snape doesn't look very sympathetic. Instead, he simply gives both of us a smoldering glare and says, "Well, then ten points will be subtracted from both Ravenclaw and Gryffindor for your lack of attention. Now get to your common room."

I raise my hand tentatively, remembering that I still needed to find a bathroom. "Uh, excuse me sir, but I've kind of got to – "

"Get to your common room before I make it fifty points, Miss Progers."

"…I'll hold it then."

With that, Selene and I march out of the bathroom and back to the staircase without any further incidents. We separate on the fifth floor, where she says the Ravenclaw tower is located.

"Well, looks like we found out our VBF," She says, almost cheerfully, although whether it is because she is getting away from me or because she is almost to her common room I cannot say.

I grimace. "Don't remind me."

"Oh no, it isn't your friend. It's Snape. Didn't you see it? His robes were all torn and covered in blood."

This comes as a surprise to me. I suppose I was too busy stressing out about the fact that Hermione was dead that I had failed to notice that our missing Professor was our Very Bloody Friend. "What was Snape doing in the third-floor corridor?" I ask, slightly confused.

Selene shrugs and straightens her glasses. Why does she do that? I mean, it's not like she actually needs them… Trying to straighten out my thoughts and clear my head so I don't get lost on the next two floors, I turn back towards the stairs.

"Oh, by the way, Kate?"

"Yeah?"

She puts one hand on her hip and smiles, something that completely catches me off guard. "Next time there's a troll in the school, let's follow the Hufflepuffs again."

* * *

><p>The Fat Lady clicks her tongue in disapproval when I give the password. "You're late," she informs me as she swings open. "But I think there's still some pie left."<p>

After what I've seen tonight? Don't think I'll be eating for the next century, thank you very much.

The entire common room is abuzz with conversation. Parvati Patil and Lavender Brown wave me over from one corner of the room and whisper excitedly, "Did you hear? Hermione was attacked by the troll in the girl's bathroom!"

I feel a sudden sinking feeling in my stomach. Poor Hermione. She wasn't that bad. Very talented for Mud – Muggle-born and a good friend. No one deserves the fate she got…

"Hey Kate, where have you been?"

...

...

...

"MERLIN'S BLOODY BOGGART! You-You-You're alive! Holy crapmuffin…Wait, you are alive, aren't you?" I close my eyes and poke Hermione in the shoulder. "Oh, that's good. I thought you were dead. Unless you're the half-dead, half-alive guy that's been going around bleeding all over the castle. Oh, wait, never mind, that's Snape, but oh my god, thank Merlin you're alive!"

With that, I proceed to thoroughly throw my arms around Hermione and hug her until someone points out that my friend is turning blue.

Once I give her enough time to breathe, Hermione looks at me suspiciously. "What made you think I was dead?"

"…Um…Lucky guess? Friend's intuition?"

"You felt a disturbance in the Force?" Rachel offers helpfully from somewhere to the left.

I nod eagerly. "_Yes!_ I felt a disturbance in the…in the…what the heck is the Force?"

She just grins back and develops a sudden interest in her pie.

Meanwhile, Harry Potter and Ron Weasley are sitting off to the side near the fire, watching this exchange silently, until Harry says, "Wait, Snape was bleeding?"

I turn towards him. "Yeah, he caught me and Selene in the girl's bathroom. We saw blood trailing all the way from the third-floor corridor. Must be something nasty in there." I shudder, remembering exactly how much blood was on the floor.

Harry looks slightly interested and confused by this new piece of news. Hermione exchanges a look with Ron that says they know more than they're letting on, which is slightly surprising to me. And a bit hurtful.

"So, you guys have made up now?" I say, a little crossly as I sit down on one of the squishy armchairs near the fire and pull my knees up to my chest. "Or is this just a friendly truce?"

"We've made up now," Hermione says as she too sits down in front of the fire. Ron has developed a sudden interest in trying to see how long he can wrap his rat's tail around a quill, but he doesn't contradict her.

"I suppose there are some things you can't do without ending up liking each other." Harry shrugs.

Ron looks up at him, grinning slightly. "And knocking out a twelve-foot tall mountain troll is one of them?"

"You guys knocked out a troll?" I ask incredulously, putting my feet back on the floor. "That's…that's amazing!" Better than being scared out of your wits looking for a VBF, actually. My little escapade seems to pale in comparison to theirs, only adding to my sour mood.

Maybe that's why I fail to warn Ron when he goes up to the boy's dormitory later in the evening to find a stash of Dungbombs hidden under his pillow that I 'borrowed' from Rachel and he lets out a (rather girly) scream that could wake the dead.

(Or I forgot. Either or.)

* * *

><p>April showers bring May flowers. November brings Quidditch and cold.<p>

Let's just say spring is overrated. Watching people fall off brooms (that are not me) is much better.

The Gryffindor Quidditch team (the one that I didn't make because I crashed into a tree) is training harder than ever. Somehow the news that Harry is playing as Seeker has spread out to the rest of the school. These days he looks either pale, embarrassed, or like he's going to hurl. Very Christmas-y colors, actually.

My father always said you can keep the player off the broom (because she crashed into a tree), but you can't get the game out of the player. So I sometimes watch the Gryffindor team practice while doing homework. It's actually a lot of fun in the stands, because when I'm not writing essays or looking up Charms, I get to see people fall off of brooms. Like I do.

(No. No, I will not let that go, thank you very much.)

Actually, the Gryffindor team is rather good, although, according to Liana, not nearly as good as the Slytherin team. I haven't seen any of them play yet, but the first match of the season is Gryffindor versus Slytherin, so it's sure to be a good match.

Which brings the question: Which team should I root for?

Hermione says it should be whichever team I like better, but she doesn't play Quidditch. She doesn't know anything about stats or broom styles or team formations or number of Quaffles drops in a season.

Rachel says obviously it should be Gryffindor. Most of the people in my house do too. Fred and George have even gone to the extent to saying that if I wear green and silver on the day of the match, they'll put owl droppings in my shoes the next morning.

I think they were joking.

I think.

* * *

><p>The day of the big match, the Great Hall is full of cheerful chattering students. Most of my classmates are crowded around Harry as he eats his hearty breakfast of…nothing.<p>

"I'm not hungry," he insists, looking very festive today, going from red to white to green and then back to red again. I don't think I should mention that.

Seamus Finnegan, who is chowing down on sausages, rolls his eyes. "Harry, you'll need your strength. Seekers are always the ones who get clobbered by the other team."

"…Thanks, Seamus."

Everyone glares at Seamus, who swallows and looks innocently back at us. "What? I'm just saying its true!"

I roll my eyes and lean my elbows on the table to look at Harry. "Look, you'll do fine. I'm cheering for Gryffindor, which means that _I have faith in you_. If I didn't, believe me, I'd look like a leprechaun."

Oops. Now they're all glaring at me, especially Seamus, who has seemed to take the leprechaun comment seriously.

"…O-kay, forget what I just said," I smile nervously and clap Harry on the shoulder. "You're going to do great. Believe me. You fly amazingly."

Harry just stares down at his plate, still turning that unhealthy Christmas combination before taking a deep breath and muttering, "Thanks. Okay. Yeah. I'll just…yeah. Thanks."

"We believe in you, Harry."

Just don't hurl on my shoes.

* * *

><p>"This is so cool," I mutter to Hermione as we stand up in the Quidditch stands. Earlier in the week, she had had the idea of making a huge banner for Harry to boost his confidence. Ron had volunteered the sheets, I made up the slogan, Dean Thomas drew the lion, and Hermione used a Charm to make the paint flash different colors.<p>

Hermione just nods and presses her binoculars to her eyes. "Okay, here he comes. One, two…"

On three, we all unfurl the banner that proclaims 'POTTER FOR PRESIDENT'. When Harry sees it, his face breaks out into a wide grin as he takes his position on the field.

"Now, I want a nice, fair game, all of you," Madame Hooch tells all of the players. I see the Slytherin players glance at each other as if to say, 'Yeah, right.' "Mount your brooms, please."

Hermione hands me her binoculars and I look through them just as the Quaffle, Bludgers, and Snitch is released.

"And the Quaffle is immediately taken by Angelina Johnson of Gryffindor – what an excellent Chaser that girl is, and rather attractive too – "

"JORDAN!" Professor McGonagall shouts, and I tear my eyes off the game to grin at Lee Jordan, the Weasley twins' friend, who is commentating the match.

"Sorry, Professor. And she's really belting along up there, a neat pass to Rachel Zytera, a good friend of mine, though can't say much about her looks – just kidding Ray, just kidding, keep on flying."

Rachel swerves around a Bludger and Slytherin Chaser, heading determinedly towards the other goal. Everyone is flying so fast, my eyes are watering just watching them. And jeez, the Beaters are hitting the Bludgers with such ferocity you'd think they're trying to kill the other team.

No wonder I didn't make it on the team. I'd be killed for sure.

…Phoenix feathers.

"Back to Johnson and – no, the Slytherins have taken the Quaffles, Slytherin Captain Marcus Flint gains the Quaffle and off he goes – Flint flying like an eagle up there – he's going to sc- no, excellent move by the Gryffindor Keeper Wood, and the Gryffindors take the Quaffle…"

Everyone bursts into applause at Wood's spectacular save, except for the disappointed Slytherins at the other end of the pitch. Slightly high on all this adrenaline going around the cold November air, I cup my hands around my mouth and start to scream, "GO, GO, GRYFFINDOR! GO, GO, GRYFFINDOR!"

The cheer is echoed on all sides by my house. "GO, GO, GRYFFINDOR! GO, GO, GRYFFINDOR! GO, GO, GRYFFINDOR! GO, GO, GRYFFINDOR!"

Lee Jordan continues commentating, though looking slightly like he'd like to join in as well. "That's Chaser Kate Bell of Gryffindor there, nice dive around Flint, off up the field and – OUCH! That must have hurt, hit in the back of the head by a Bludger – Quaffle taken by the Slytherins – that's Adam Kerrington speeding off towards the goal posts, but he's stopped by a second Bludger – sent his way by Fred or George Weasley, can't tell which – nice play by the Gryffindor Beater, anyway, and Johnson back in possession of the Quaffle, and off she goes – she's really flying – dodges a speeding Bludger – perfect pass to Zytera – clear field ahead and she's flying fast – come on Rachel – Keeper Bletchley dives – misses – GRYFFINDORS SCORE!"

We all wave our banners and scream as down at the farther end of the field the Slytherins boo and jeer. Paying them no attention, Rachel pumps her fist in the air and high fives with Angelina Johnson as higher above Harry does a few loop de loops on his broom.

"Budge up there, move along," A voice says somewhere behind us. Hermione and Ron exclaim and squeeze together to let the giant who took us up to the school on our first day in.

"Bin watchin' from me hut, but it isn't the same as bein' in the crowd." Hagrid says warmly, holding up his binoculars. Dean Thomas and I exchange looks as we move to the side to allow him enough room. "No sign of the Snitch yet, eh?"

We all shake our heads. "Nope," Ron says. "Harry hasn't had much to do yet."

Hagrid shrugs. "Kept outta trouble, though, that's somethin',"

We all turn back to the skies as Harry dodges a Bludger that is quickly beat back towards the Slytherin team captain by Fred Weasley.

Over in the Slytherin stands, I see Liana watching the Chasers travel back and forth across the field, holding a Slytherin flag and wearing a similar scarf. When she sees me staring, I can see her take in my own Gryffindor scarf and banner, and she raises her eyebrows.

I just smile and look up towards the field where Adam Kerrington has regained possession of the Quaffle. Looking back at Liana, I smirk as her face turns white and turns away.

That's little sister 1, big sister 0.

"Slytherin in possession – Chaser Kerrington ducks two Bludgers, two Weasleys, and Chaser Bell and speeds toward the – wait, was that the Snitch?"

There's the sound of about two hundred head turning simultaneously towards the direction Lee Jordan is pointing at as both Harry and the Slytherin Seeker race towards the tiny ball of gold.

Both are speeding fast, but the Slytherin Seeker is no match for Harry's speed. Good lord, he's going fast, how does he stay on without falling off? He's so close, he's going to catch it…

WHAM!

"WHAT?"

The Slytherin captain, Marcus Flint, looks satisfied as Harry attempts to regain control of his broom after purposefully blocking him, that foul little troll. The Gryffindors around me are roaring in outrage and Madame Hooch is looking furious as she stops play to yell at the captain.

"Send him off, ref! Red card!" Dean yells. We all stop and stare at him. Red card? What the heck is he talking about?

Seeing our confused looks, Dean explains, still angry, "In soccer, you get shown a red card and you're out of the game!"

"But this isn't soccer, Dean."

"They oughta change the rules," Hagrid shakes his head, disgusted at the tactics. "Flint coulda knocked Harry outta the air."

After all the chaos, Madmae Hooch finishes shouting at Flint and restarts the game. Lee Jordan excitedly resumes his commentary, finding it difficult not to take sides.

"So, after that obvious and disgusting bit of cheating –"

"JORDAN!"

"I mean, after that open and revolting foul –"

"Jordan, I'm warning you…"

"All right, all right," Lee trails off, holding his hands up in surrender. "Flint nearly kills the Gryffindor Seeker, which could happen to anyone, I'm sure, so a penalty to Gryffindor, taken by Johnson, who puts it away, no problem, and we continue play, Gryffindor in possession…"

I've forgotten how much fun watching a Quidditch game is. Every time the Gryffindors come near to scoring, we all hold our breaths. Every time we see one of the Bludgers hit someone in the head, we all wince. There's so much energy in the air, and it's making my head spin and my brain go fuzzy. It's a nice feeling, like the time my uncle Jerry gave me a bit of firewhiskey when I was six, only without the headache I got later.

Marcus Flint, obviously in a sour mood from Gryffindor being in the lead, grabs the Quaffle and maneuvers around both Rachel and Katie, only to be hit in the face by a Bludger, courtesy of George Weasley.

"Hope it broke his nose – only joking, Professor – Slytherins score – oh no…"

We all groan as further down, the Slytherins jump up and cheer. Hagrid, however, is intently peering through his binoculars, looking worried.

"Dunno what Harry thinks he's doing," he mumbles, handing the binoculars to me. When I look through them, my jaw drops and my heart stops for a minute.

Harry's broom is zigzagging through the air, making sudden stops and starts, turning like a horse determinedly to buck it's rider off. Holding on for dear life, Harry looks just as shocked as we do as he travels over the stands.

"Someone help him!" I shout, just as the broom rolls over and Harry slips off. The entire crowd gasps as he dangles by only one hand, hundreds of feet off the ground. One girl even faints, and Seamus look very white when he whispers, "Did something happen when Flint blocked him?"

"Can't have," Hagrid shakes his head, looking unusually scared. "Can't nothing interfere with a broomstick except powerful Dark magic – no kid could do that to a Nimbus Two Thousand."

All of a sudden, Hermione's eyes light up with understanding, as she snatches the binoculars to scan the crowd, mumbling to Ron under her breath. After a few moments, she hands them back and disappears.

I turn to Ron, one eye on the skies as Harry's broom continues to try and fling him off. "What was that?"

He shakes his head, obviously not willing to share. Pouting slightly, I turn back to the sky with crossed fingers as Fred and George fly over to Harry, trying to pull him to safety on one of their brooms, but the Nimbus Two Thousand jumps out of their reach and higher still.

Neville begins to sob, burying his face in Hagrid's jacket. Marcus Flint, the scumbag, pays no attention to Harry's situation, and grabs the Quaffle, scoring five times with no one looking. I'm holding my breath, probably turning blue, but I can't breathe until this nightmare stops and Harry either falls off or his broom stops shaking.

There is general shouting from the teacher's box, which I assume is someone saying, "Someone catch that kid!" and someone else explaining how it's impossible and another teacher wringing her hands and some idiot going, "Yeah! Now _this _is interesting!" Typical mob scene.

Finally, after two centuries and a decade, Harry pulls himself back onto his broom, shakily, but surely. Cheers resound from all sides, except for Draco Malfoy, who looks slightly disappointed that Harry didn't fall to his death.

However, it isn't over yet, and as Harry speeds towards the crowd, he looks that same pale green as he did at breakfast.

"Oh my god, he's going to hurl!" I shout, and everyone leans forward (_forward_? YOU IDIOTS!) as Harry collapses to the ground, clapping his hand over his mouth and coughs into his hand. Suddenly, grinning, he holds up his hand, and we all see a glimpse of gold.

"I've got the Snitch!"

* * *

><p>"I knew you could do it, Harry!" There's me.<p>

"He didn't catch it, he nearly swallowed it!" There's Flint.

"Gryffindor wins, one-hundred and seventy point to sixty, ha ha, take that you cheating scu – " There's Lee.

"JORDAN!" You know who that is.

"Sorry, sorry Professor, won't happen again…"

We're all laughing and clapping Harry on the back and telling him how brave he was and what an amazing catch that was. It doesn't matter now that we're all nearly frozen and the Slytherins look murderous and my sister is definitely going to write to my mother now, whether or not I tell dad about her boyfriend, and Hermione has reappeared again and won't tell me what she did.

None of that matter, because we are all too happy and drunk on success to worry about trifle things like jinxes and Howlers and the fact I haven't done my Charms homework. We're too busy watching Fred and George do impersonations of Marcus Flint chucking his broom away after the game and listening to Professor McGonagall threaten Lee with detention/disembowelment if he commentates like that again and dancing (badly) in the common room with Rachel to worry about things like that.

You can take the girl out of the game (because she crashed into a tree) but the girl will always love the game.

* * *

><p><strong>Thank you for reading, and remember, reviews=love. And faster updates, because I've got my muse on now.<strong>

**Mischief Managed and Merry Christmas!**

**-Leila**


	9. Snakes and Lions and Hairpins

**Okay, so this is like two months late. I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry. Now that science fair is over (and I know I've said this millions of times) updates will hopefully be faster. Until then, please enjoy this slightly long chapter. I've also been working on getting my tumblr up and running, in case anyone wants to know a bit about my personal life and a few funny anecdotes. And, in case you don't, I also have pictures and other behind-the-scenes looks at Girl, Eleven, Demanding a ReSort, including a picture of Kate if anyone wants to see. I'll eventually add more to it over time, so check it out! (profile links aren't working right now, so it's on-butterfly-wings (dot) tumblr (dot) com.)**

**Disclaimer: Bleh.**

**Dedication: To the lovely Jo bel, an anonymous reviewer whose only comment was 'YUK I HAT DIS'. Sweetie, you spelled three of those four words wrong. Your argument is invalid until you pass kindergarten.**

**Thank you to Panthera-Kaia-Lily, and JPLE for reviewing!**

* * *

><p>"<em>God rest ye merry, hippogriffs,<em>

_Let nothing you dismay_

_No one really wants an injury_

_Coming on Christmas day…"_

"Has anyone ever told you that you have a beautiful voice, Kate?"

I try to hide the grateful blush behind my Transfiguration textbook at the sudden compliment. "No, no one has, Fred."

"Well, there's a reason for that…"

Okay, happy feeling gone now. I'm feeling more like 'murderous rage', and throw the book across the common room towards his head. He ducks and it hits Seamus instead, who looks more shocked than hurt.

"Oops, sorry Seamus!"

"It's okay, you don't throw that hard."

I thought Christmas was supposed to be the 'season of peace', not the 'let's-all-pick-on-Kate-and-see-if-she'll-explode' season. Correct me if I'm wrong, please.

"Ha ha. You're so funny. I'm dying of laughter." I say flatly, sitting up on my chair and tucking my feet under me, looking over at the window. It's been so cold outside lately, and everyone has been making use of the common room fire after classes every day. No one wants to go outside, really. It's too cold to have any fun, but not quite cold enough to snow.

Yet.

Luckily, the bad weather means that Liana hasn't found time to send Mum a letter describing my latest behavior during the Quidditch game. It's coming any day now, though, and I suppose Mum will probably find a way to make the Howler scream at me all the way through New Years, somehow.

However, I'm not going home for Christmas, so I won't have to take the yelling in person. Which is considerably better, because when Mum yells at me, her eyes sort of bulge out and she spits, so it's hard not to laugh and be scared at the same time. Professor McGonagall went around with the list last week for those who want to stay at the castle over the holidays. With only a few days left of term, I immediately signed up, and I'm not the only one. Harry is staying behind, as well as Ron and his brothers and Rachel. Selene and Hermione are leaving tomorrow.

"I was kidding, Kate, no need to get violent," Fred says with something like an apologetic tone, handing me back the book. George looks up from where he sits with Percy's Prefect badge, trying to make it say 'Pinhead'.

"Are you kidding me? She's a Slytherin Princess, when is she not violent?"

"Watch it," I snap, holding up the book threateningly. "Not in the mood today, okay? It's bloody freezing outside, I've got homework to do, and it's not snowing! Why isn't it snowing? I want it to snow! It's supposed to snow!"

I'm ranting now, waving my arms like a maniac, and the rest of the common room's occupants are exchanging confused looks, like 'Is she for real?'. Of course they don't get it. No one does.

"I mean, it does snow on Christmas, doesn't it?" I scowl, walking over to the window. Any happy mood I had previously has disappeared. "Or is that just some sort of modern myth, like self-casting wands and pictures that stay in one place all the time?"

No one answers. George is concentrating on Charming his brother's pin, Seamus has retreated to his dormitory to get ice, and Fred has suddenly developed an interest in the paintings that decorate the common room. I cross my arms over my chest and stalk out of the common room and into the castle.

Stupid housemates. Stupid weather. Stupid me and my stupid non-singing voice (so I'm a little out of practice, I'm not _that_ bad…)

As I head towards the library, storm clouds gathering around my head, I pass by Filch, who is predictably talking to his cat. Again.

"Yes, I heard it too, my sweet. Sounded like someone was dying."

I resist the urge to kick Mrs. Norris. And her owner. And everything I pass by.

* * *

><p>"Watch out!"<p>

The warning comes too late, and I manage to unceremoniously slip down the staircase leading from the tapestry corridor into the viaduct entrance. Wincing, I prop myself up on my elbows and look up at Selene.

"Someone spilled frogspawn on the stairs this morning," She explains, helping me up and then wiping her hand on her robes. "It's still pretty slippery."

"Gee, I haven't noticed," I remark drily, stomping out of the room and heading across the viaduct. There is definitely a strong wind that could easily blow me over the stone railing, and it feels like fifteen degrees below zero – _but_ _still no snow_.

"What's wrong with you?" Selene is following about five feet behind me, obviously not getting the hint that I want to be left alone right now. I whirl around to face her, tasking out all of my anger and frustration.

"Oh, there's nothing wrong with me, it's the rest of the world that's got an issue!" I practically snarl, and she takes about one step back. "Tell me, do you honestly think that my singing voice is _that_ bad? Or that I'm _that_ violent? Or that it's remotely possible to be this cold and not see _one_ single bloody snowflake? You're the genius, you tell me – is any of this true? Or is it just me?"

Selene blinks, confused. I don't suppose I'm making any sense at all. That happens quite a lot when I rant, actually. Still, I'm too annoyed to care.

"Well, first off, I've never heard you sing, so I wouldn't have any idea. Second of all, I don't think you're that violent. Third, I'm sure that it'll snow soon. Why are you so worried about it?"

"Why?"

Why?

You want to know why?

I've never even touched one single snowflake. I've never run outside and thrown snowballs and made little people out of ice. I've never been ice skating. Mum always told me it wasn't dignified to go outside and get all cold and wet. So I've always just stayed inside and traced pictures on the frost on the windows.

This year, there's no one to tell me what I want to do. No one to tell me to stay inside. This year is the first year I can do whatever I please. And it won't snow. I've watched it happen. Every. Single. Year. Except for this one.

How can Christmas be Christmas without snow?

When I tell Selene this, my frustration sort of fades away. It's nice to be able to tell someone. I've never even told Liana. It was always 'do as you're told', 'follow the leader'. Don't complain. Be lucky you have such a nice big house to live in and keep you warm during the cold.

(Funny thing is, it's only a house. Never a home.)

Selene crosses her arms over her chest, thinking. "Well, I suppose there's a type of spell that could _make_ it snow," She muses, mentally going through the library catalogue she has memorized. "I'm sure I could find the right book…but it'd be a very complicated spell. I don't think we'd be able to manage it. Only about 28 percent."

"Really?" A new hope begins to rise up in me. I've heard very powerful wizards being able to control things like people or luck. So sure, why not the weather? "Could you possibly find the book? That would be so amazing if we could make it snow!"

She frowns, not entirely convinced. "Well, I'm sure it would be very complicated spell. Also, it could be against one of the school rules."

"Oh yes, the 'first-years are not allowed to change the weather' rule. Right next to the 'bungee-jumping off the Astronomy Tower is prohibited' rule."

"That rule_ is_ in the book."

"Well, according to Fred and George, up until last year it wasn't."

"…your friends' life-threatening antics aside…"

"Oh come on Selene, it'll be fun! And I promise, we won't be breaking any rules! I swear it on my mum's grave!"

"Your mother isn't dead yet."

"Okay, I swear it on my Great-Aunt's grave. She's dead, believe me, she fell down a well."

"That's horrible!"

"That isn't the worst part. I'm named after her. Ever since I heard 'Kate's drowning, Kate's drowning!', I've had…I've had aquaphobia and – will you stop laughing?"

* * *

><p>The next day, I wake up before all of my roommates and probably most of my house and rush to the window, pressing my nose to the glass to look outside. My breath fogs it up, and I impatiently rub it with my sleeve to get a better look at the school grounds.<p>

Everything is white.

My eyes widen, and I rush over to my trunk to stuff my feet into my shoes, shuffling around and opening my trunk to look for a scarf. Lavender sits up, rubbing her eyes and blinking at me wearily.

"Wh-What's up, K-Kate?" She gives an ear-splitting yawn, stretching slowly. I don't respond, slipping past her and practically running down the dormitory stairs. No one is in the common room, but the fire is already crackling merrily for whichever student wishes to place him or herself in front of its warmth.

I barely see anyone on my way down towards the ground floor, but the students I do pass stare at me. I suppose I do look a little odd, wearing nothing but my pajamas and a scarf. Professor McGonagall's jaw drops when I slip past her in the Entrance Hall.

"Miss Progers, what on _earth_ are you doing?" She asks, shell-shocked. I ignore her too, pretty sure that this will earn me a detention in the near future, but the funny thing is I don't care. As I push through the doors, I pause on the edge of the steps leading to the Viaduct Courtyard.

Steps away.

My breath looks smoky in the morning air, and the chill nips at my bare arms. The snowflakes are still falling. If I reach out a hand, I could probably catch a few. Instead, I cross my arms over my chest and stare at the white covering everything.

_Here goes. _I take a deep breath and take one step, then the other, closing my eyes as my shoes touch the fresh powder with a crunch. Something brushes my arm, and I instinctively flinch, only to open my eyes and realize it's only a snowflake.

Ha. Only a snowflake. I smile, and hold out my hand, suddenly feeling all happy and giddy inside. The snowflake is cold to the touch and melts immediately, but it doesn't matter. There are hundreds, thousands, millions more, and according to Liana, all of them are different.

Looking around, the entire castle looks more beautiful than it usually is. Little patches of white sticking to the turrets and roofs of the towers, icicles hanging from trees to catch the sunlight. Trees draped in necklaces of frost. It's amazing.

"I can't believe it worked." Even my own voice sounds foreign and unfamiliar, and I grin, yelling just to hear it again. "I can't believe it worked!"

"It didn't."

I whirl around to face Professor Dumbledore, who is standing in the doorway. How long has he been there?

Wow. Awkward.

"Oh, hi Professor!" I try to make my voice as pleasant as possible, but instead it comes out as a small, mouse-like squeak. "Um, I was just…er…observing the…um…it's quite a funny story, actually…oh, forget it, I've got nothing."

Professor Dumbledore just smiles amusedly from behind his long white beard. "I was informed by Professor McGonagall that there was a student currently running around in her pajamas outside. I thought it was Miss Zytera. She, Mr. Weasley, Mr. Weasley, and Mr. Jordan are known for their unpredictable antics."

…Okaaaaaaay.

"However, I see I am not the only one enjoying the weather today." He looks up at the sky curiously, as though he has never seen it before. "I heard from Madam Pince that you and your friend Miss Carmical were, what would you call it? Conspiring to change fall into winter, if you will."

I swallow. "Sir, we technically weren't breaking any rules. I looked in the book, there was nothing prohibiting it –"

"True, true," He nods in agreement, still smiling, blue eyes twinkling behind his spectacles. "However, I should hope that you know that the rules do allow for some sort of common sense? For example, Mr. Weasley and Mr. Weasley realized last year that, while it was not stated word for word in the book, bungee-jumping off of the Astronomy Tower was in fact a foolish idea."

Actually, I hear some people say that it was ingenious, using Muggle technology like that. The teachers only banned it because it gave Professor Sinistra a heart attack and a seventh-year girl fainted. But I don't contradict Professor Dumbledore because, well, he's Professor Dumbledore.

"There is a fine line between skirting the rules and blatantly breaking them, I hope you realize that."

"But you said it didn't work," I think back. "So there was really no infraction. No harm, no foul?"

"I'm afraid that spell you and Miss Carmical attempted was much too complex for a couple of first-years, no matter how bright, so yes, no harm, no foul. However, I would suggest that you get inside and change into warmer clothes. Madame Pomfrey will not be pleased if she finds she has a surplus of students suffering from colds. Don't worry," Dumbledore adds, seeing my hesitance. "Winter isn't going anywhere. It wouldn't be that much fun to enjoy the weather alone, anyway."

I nod, and head towards the Entrance Hall, before remembering one last question. Turning around, I ask, "Sir? If the spell didn't work, how is it that it's snowing today?"

This entire time, Professor Dumbledore has been smiling like a child with a secret to spill. He puts his hands behind his back and faces the school grounds, looking utterly wise and ancient and yet young and full of life at the same time.

"Miss Progers, I think you'll realize soon enough that here at Hogwarts, help will always be given to those who need it." He turns back toward me and winks. "And I hope next time, you'll be wise enough to know all you need to do is ask."

* * *

><p>The last few days of term pass by uneventfully. We're pretty much all holding our breath until we can all enjoy a few weeks without any classes or homework. That last Transfiguration lesson is one of the most chaotic I've ever seen. We can't concentrate for a moment on the lesson that Professor McGonagall is unsuccessfully trying to ingrain in our memories before it leaks out our ears during the break. Instead, the entire class remains glued to their watches, waiting as the seconds tick by to freedom.<p>

When the bell rings, she shouts exasperatedly, "Have a good holiday," as we all rush out of her classroom and into the freezing halls, where the torches that line the corridors flicker in the chilly air. No one stays there long, heading either to the common room or to the Great Hall or outside to take advantage of the gorgeous weather.

As I head past the Transfiguration Courtyard, I argue with Hermione over a topic that has been at the back of my mind for the past few weeks.

"I know that you and Harry and Ron know something, don't you? It has something to do with what happened to Harry's broom during the Quidditch game."

"It's none of your business!"

"Yes, it is!" I follow her as she pulls open the door leading to the rest of the castle and stalks inside. "I know you guys are all keeping secrets, aren't you? All that blood during Halloween, Snape, the third-floor corridor, it's all connected, right?"

She doesn't answer, keeping her head down as we walk past the portrait of Timothy the Timid. Taking this as a good sign, I continue to pepper her with questions as we head across the suspension bridge.

"You know something about it. Come on, just tell me, I'm good at keeping secrets!"

"Look, I don't know any more about it than you do, alright? Just drop it."

"I will not." I race up the stairs ahead, stopping right in front of her. "Just give me a hint, okay, and I'll figure out the rest."

Hermione doesn't look entirely convinced. I put my hand on my hip and ask, "Does it have to do with the third-floor corridor that Snape was in?"

"…Yes."

"Do you know why Snape was in it?"

"No, that's what we're trying to find out." Her face turns a pinkish color. "Oh no, I probably shouldn't have told you that."

"What happened during the Quidditch game?" I press on, trying to make sense of the puzzle pieces that don't match up in my head. They all have something to do with what happened on Halloween. I know it. "Who was jinxing Harry's broom?"

Hermione looks around to see if anyone's watching, eyes wide. Finally, she leans in and whispers, "Look, I can't prove this, and you probably won't believe me. But Snape was trying to kill Harry during the game. He was cursing it. The only reason he stopped was because, well, I…" Here she breaks off, obviously not willing to disclose any more of the story.

Now I realize what all the commotion was about in the teacher's box at the game. I close my eyes and try to sort it all out. Snape tried to kill Harry and also was attacked on Halloween in the forbidden third-floor corridor. Two attacks, one near fatality. One troll, one corridor. How can all that be connected?

"You talk to Hagrid, the gamekeeper, right?" I ask, completely lost. "Does he know anything about it?"

Hermione bites her lip, not sure if she should say any more. "Yes, but more like he lets it slip. I can't tell you anything else, though. I'm sorry, I promised I'd keep it a secret."

"Okay." Nothing adds up. It's an odd mystery, one that I'm definitely not smart enough to solve. Not on my own. And Hermione won't help me, so…

Wait. What other sort-of-genius do I know?

* * *

><p>Unfortunately, the students bound for home leave before can get any more info from Hermione. I still spend much of my time trying to figure it out, pestering Harry and Ron for information. They don't let anything slip.<p>

"Look, we don't know any more that you do," Harry eventually says exasperatedly, and I believe him. He and Ron have been spending a lot of time in the library to no avail. "Unless you want to see me lose to Ron at wizard's chess for the fifteenth time, I can't help you."

I peer at the chessboard lying on the table, the pawns all lined up and blood-thirsty. "Where did you get them?"

"Seamus."

"They're not going to listen to you if they're someone else's. Pawns do have feelings, you know."

"Until they get pounded into dust."

"Well, yeah, until they get pounded into dust."

Pulling up a chair next to the table, I rest my chin in my hands and watch them play, utterly bored. Now that term is over, there is no homework to do and no classes to attend. I was planning on going outside for a snowball fight with Fred, George, and Rachel, but they got themselves a detention by putting a Charm on snowballs to bounce off the back of Professor Quirrell's turban.

I would have loved to see that.

Harry looks over the board, pondering his opening move. "Pawn to F3."

"Pawn to D6."

"Knight to H3."

"Bishop to D7."

"Knight to G5."

"Pawn to E6."

Dear Merlin. They're taking literally forever. My eyes hurt just looking at the black and white squares. And I still have no clue what I'm getting any of my friends for Christmas. It's been snowing so hard lately and I don't think I'll be able to mail anything in this late…

"Castle to E5."

"Queen to E5."

"Aw, Seamus is not going to be happy."

"He can get a new one, castles don't cost that much."

"Yeah, I guess."

"New ones aren't as good, though."

Oh my god. I'm going to die of boredom right in this chair. Seriously. I am going to _kill_ whoever invented the idea of chess. At least with Exploding Snap you can laugh if the other player's hair catches on fire.

I start doodling on a spare piece of parchment, just to do something, and start tuning Harry and Ron out as Harry begins arguing with his pawns over the worth of the knights versus the life of his queen. It's almost an hour later that the game is finally finished.

"Knight to A4."

"Checkmate."

"Shoot." Harry tips his king over in defeat, slouching back in his chair while Ron grins.

"That's, what, the sixteenth time now?"

"Shut up."

I stand up and stretch, looking over at the board. Yep, Ron definitely killed Harry. There's less than half of Seamus's pawns still intact. Pretty much a slaughter. Poor, poor defenseless pawns. Their entire existence, smashed to dust. It is a rather bloody game, but Liana loves it. She won't take the other player's king unless she has successfully killed as many of the other player's pawns as possible, or is able to get the most money out of it.

Which reminds me. I owe her about ten galleons.

"Kate, that's bloody brilliant!" Ron's awestruck voice brings me back to reality. He's holding the spare piece of parchment I had been doodling on, holding it out to Harry. "I didn't know you could draw."

Harry scans the parchment, his eyebrows raised, impressed. "Blimey. It looks like us."

I peer over his shoulder. I was only really half aware of what I had been sketching, but now I see its two boys playing chess, both with expressions of utter seriousness, like two men about to go into battle. Which was totally _not_ what it looked like at all to me in reality, but Harry and Ron both seem pretty pleased with the interpretations of themselves, no matter how stretched they may be.

"I'll bet you could get money for this. It could be your job. Set up a stand in Diagon Alley and draw pictures of people," Harry says, not a hint of joking in his tone. Which, although nice, it seems a little insulting to think the only job I would be qualified for in the future would be as a street artist.

"So even if your singing stinks, you're a pretty decent artist," Ron shrugs, wincing when I hit him in the head with the parchment.

"Tactless!" I scowl, rolling it up. "Completely tactless, Ron Weasley. You'll be lucky if I don't put another Dungbomb in your pillow for a nice Christmas pres –" I pause, a sudden thought occurring to me.

"Kate? What are you staring at?"

"I think she's having one of those 'stare-off-into-the-distance-in-great-thought' moments. Push her, maybe she'll fall over."

"Don't. Even. Think about it."

* * *

><p>On Christmas morning, Lavender shakes me awake.<p>

"Kate! Kate! One of your presents is smoking!"

"…that's nice…go 'way."

"I think it's a bomb!"

"Don't be ridiculous…"

"It's from your sister."

"…"

That would be extremely low. Even for Liana.

But not impossible.

"OUT OF MY WAY!" I shout, attempting to jump out of bed, but only succeeding in tangling my legs in the sheets and landing painfully on the floor. Parvati snickers, leaning against her own bed across the room, surrounded by torn paper.

"It's not a bomb, we've already checked. But it _is_ smoking. I might open it before it does explode."

Blinking wearily, I rub my eyes. "Aw…phoenix feathers. What time is it?"

"Nine." She replies, checking her watch. "You're the only one who hasn't opened your presents. We wanted you to sleep in."

Awwww…I have such wonderful roommates. When they're not trying to terrify me.

Untangling my sheets from my legs, I scoot over to the stack of packages at the foot of my bed. One of them, a handsomely wrapped one in silver, is emitting a slightly grayish smoke that looks frankly quite dangerous. Hands shaking, I pull off the ribbon and tear off the paper, which stops the spewing smoke, revealing a small white box that I open carefully, just in case.

Inside is a (bomb!) package and a note, written in Liana's perfect, neat handwriting. I glance at the note first before opening the package.

_Katey-Kat,_

_Happy Christmas! I wasn't sure what to get you at first, but then I remembered. These used to belong to Father's great-great-great aunt Nicole. She, like you, was in Gryffindor, the last one in our family before you. I figured you might like them, and the story behind them. Besides, your bangs are getting way to long. I'm surprised you haven't walked into a wall yet._

_Anyway, you should also know that as another present, I'm not going to tell Mum about your inappropriate behavior at the Quidditch game. However, just let me say that I am very disappointed in you. I thought that you were taking your mistake in stride the first few weeks of term, but then you suddenly slacked off. The only reason why I'm covering for you now is because you're my little sister. And because I know someday when you're snogging boys in empty classroom, you'll extend the same courtesy to me, whatever it is I do._

_Love,_

_Lia_

…Wow.

She insults me and tells me she loves me in the exact same letter. Bravo, Lia. You really are our mother's daughter.

I scan over it one more, time just to make sure I'm reading it right. Inappropriate conduct? Because I'm not moping around complaining about my situation every few seconds like I used to? Because I'm making pumpkin juice out of rotten pumpkins? Well, at least I know she has my back. But pff, snogging boys in empty classrooms? Like that's going to happen in the next fifty years. Boys are gross and play way too much chess.

Wondering what the first part of the note meant, I untie the package and pull out whatever Liana meant for me. To my surprise, it's two very small, very delicate hair pins. Silver and inlaid with tiny rubies, they shine very brightly in the light of the dorm.

Best of all, I can see why Lia wanted me to have it. Not only does it feature two colors of our houses, silver and red, but I can also see the representation of the animals of our houses as well. The carefully carved snake slithering along the side, the roaring lion faintly seen inside two of the tiny rubies. I wonder what my great-great-great-great aunt Nicole was thinking when she had it made. Was she ashamed of her house, was afraid that she, too, was a failure? Or was she proud of who she was, no matter what anyone said?

Lavender leans over my shoulder, giving a small, appreciative "wow". I bite my lip, letting a small smile cross my face and my eyes start to fill with tears, barely spilling over.

"Kate?" Parvati asks carefully, scooting over to me. "Are you crying?"

I swallow, wiping them away with the back of my hand. "N-no. I was just…sweating through my eyes." Yeah, that's it. A Progers never cries, no matter what. I hold out the pins to Lavender and Parvati carefully. "Check it out."

As Lavender holds one up to the light, the door to our dorm opens, and Rachel walks in, a grin on her face as she flops down onto Hermione's made bed. "Hey, happy Christmas firsties!"

I make a face to hide my earlier moment of weakness. "Euch. You sound like Peeves."

Rachel laughs, her hair a festive green and red. "Touché. By the way, thanks for present." She holds up the gift I gave her, a last minute stroke of inspiration. It's a picture, hand drawn and colored and Charmed to actually move. Hers is just a portrait, but it was particularly tricky to Charm, because every few minutes, the features change. The hair changes colors, the eyes change shape, ect, ect. Right now, it's an exact match of how she looks now.

Liana's is a picture of her in her prefect badge, patrolling the halls and looking oh so very important. I know she'll like that. She likes feeling important. And Hermione's is her sitting on a chair reading a book next to a table. A cracked tea cup sits next to her, but, without taking her eyes from the book, she waves her wand and repairs it, over and over again. I hope she likes it and will appreciate the amount of time I spent in the library searching for the right Charm. Selene's picture of herself writes poetry in a teeny tiny book and Harry's flies all over the parchment looking for the Snitch. Fred and George's took forever, predictably them jumping off of the Astronomy Tower with a Muggle bungee jump cord.

"Check out what Kate got for Christmas," Parvati says, holding out the pins. Rachel gently lifts one up and examines it.

"Wow." Rachel's eyes widen. "Those things real?"

"I-I think," I say, taking them back and examining the rubies. My family does have a bit of money, and they're not afraid to show it. My mum may have a bit more tact than our relatives and knows better than to let us go around wearing gaudy jewels and flaunting our wealth everywhere like some people (*cough*Malfoys*cough*), but these tiny rubies wouldn't be too much, would it?

"Try it on, Kate," Lavender urges, and, remembering what Liana told me about my bangs, I pull them back behind my ears and pin them to the rest of my hair using the hairpins. I blink and look back towards my friends, suddenly very self-conscious.

"Uh…so?"

Rachel's face breaks out into a grin. "Perfect. Just perfect. Now hurry up, will you? I'm starving, let's get to dinner."

* * *

><p>Christmas dinner is an extravagant affair, with delicious food, party favors, and Percy struggling to free himself from the sweater that Fred and George have forced him into like a straitjacket. The entire Weasley clan is wearing sweaters in multitudes of different colors. Ron looks very sullen in a dark maroon color, while Fred and George both wear blue with a yellow 'F' and 'G'.<p>

"Mum apparently thinks we don't know our names," Fred explains as I sit down next to Rachel at the Gryffindor table.

"But we're not stupid, we know we're called Gred and Forge." George quips, causing the entire table to laugh. I smile as I reach for a wizard cracker, wonder how long they've been working on that line. Probably all morning.

Talk, laughter, and the occasional deafening bang from people pulling apart the crackers reverberate across the Great Hall, much like the Halloween feast, although I'm really hoping a troll doesn't appear out of nowhere this time. Or a swarm of flesh-eating pixies or the monster of Christmas past or something.

"I couldn't think of what to get everyone, so I bought a bunch of Chocolate Frogs," Neville says, handing a few out. "Er…hope you like them."

A simple gesture, yet incredibly sweet, and Neville receives a multitude of smiles in return. Tearing open the package, I glance at the picture of an incredibly old wizard named Nicholas something before throwing it away. I don't collect Chocolate Frog cards anyway.

Once everyone has eaten their fill and are unable to eat another bite, most of us return to our houses, although I go join in on a snowball fight with Rachel, the Weasleys, and Harry. About halfway through, George declares boys against girls.

"No fair!" There's only Rachel and me versus Ron, Harry, Fred and George. Twice as many as them as there are of us. Still, Fred only grins as he replies, "Well, you two'd better work harder, now."

I'd love to say I pummel them with snowballs later on, but considering I spend the rest of the day trying to defrost my hair and reach the icy sludge that someone had put down the back of my shirt (who I suspect was Rachel, the traitor), I'd be lying.

Altogether, it's a very enjoyable holiday. When I don't fear that my presents are going to explode on me or that a troll is going to attack me in the loo or when I'm not crashing into trees trying to throw snowballs at Ron.

Yep. Just another holiday at Hogwarts.

"_Ding dong, ding dong_

_Ring the Hogwarts bell_

_(Ring the Hogwarts bell)_

_Ding dong, ding dong_

_Cast a Christmas spell…"_

"Do you hear that?"

"What?"

"Dunno, sounds like someone's dying…"

That's it. I've sworn off Christmas carols. Forever.

* * *

><p><strong>If you liked it, tell me what you think. If you don't like it, still tell me what you think. I welcome all constructive criticism. <strong>

**Mischiefed Managed!**


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